


The Snow Garden

by LateStarter58



Series: The Tom and Natalie Stories [2]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 03:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16802563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Now that Tom and Natalie have finally met in person, she has invited him to her cottage in Herefordshire. But a winter storm is blowing in...





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story in the Tom and Natalie series.

“I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.”   
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

On the wall about halfway down the narrow staircase of Holly Cottage there was a small, black-and-white picture of a young man in a British Army battledress; the uniform was obviously too big for him but his pride in wearing it shines from every pore. Ernie Banks was 16 in 1939. The youngest in his family, his mother had begged him not to join up, but on his eighteenth birthday he was there clutching his call-up papers, eagerly taking the King’s shilling. Unlike two of his four brothers he survived the war, but not entirely unscathed. He returned home almost four years later like so many others, a changed man, with a very different outlook to the wide-eyed teenager who had dreamed of being a hero, of shooting Gerries and saving damsels in distress.  
Every morning on her way down to breakfast, his niece and the current owner of Ernie Banks’ last home, would smile at him, sometimes tapping his arm lightly as she passed. There was much of him still evident around the place: his work in the garden, much of his furniture and many of his decorative choices endured where she had yet to make changes. But that was the only image of him on display. Natalie had a vague memory of seeing that very picture on her Nana’s bedside table, next to the shiny brass bedstead, one in a crowd of military portraits of mostly long-dead relations. Nana excluded, Ernie was the only other member of the family she knew apart from her own father, because those three were the only ones still living by the time she was born in the sixties.   
After being demobbed, Ernie had moved away from home, found work on the land and taken solace in his interactions with living things. He lived a long life but never married, and Natalie had her own theory as to why that was, but it was not something she could ever discuss with him or even her mother. And she had been far too young to talk of such matters with Nana Banks before she died. Of course, the world was very different then.   
This particular morning on impulse she kissed the glass over Uncle Ernie’s shining face. “Thanks, Ern, you wonderful man,” she whispered, then continued down to the kitchen. __________________________________________________

• The weather forecast looks pretty dodgy for next week. I don't mind if you want to postpone x  
• Not a chance  
• It’s coming from the east anyway. Cant get too bad your side  
• But you still might get stuck   
• As long as Im stuck with you I dont mind  
• Thomas  
• Be serious  
• I am  
Natalie put down the phone and lifted her coffee mug to her mouth. The warm porcelain felt good to the touch, accentuating the glow that the text exchange had brought. There was a definite tingle going on, whenever she saw his name, thought of him (which was often, naturally). An unfamiliar feeling, she thought. But I must not allow myself to get carried away. He is who he is, and I am who I am.   
• Morning Mum. U OK today?  
• I was just about to message you! Yes Im fine  
• What r u doing? Plans 4 2day?  
• Finishing bfast. And nothing much. A walk, bit of work, rugby on TV. The usual Saturday stuff. You?  
• A waxing and then meeting P for lunch and shopping. Shes working this am :(  
• Oh well. Have a good day, love xx  
__________________________________________________

“Mornings had evolved in the course of Anna’s marriage. At first, in those ephemeral early days, they had been a time of delightful anticipation; she would wake next to her handsome young husband and together they would prepare for the working day. Was she happy, in the picture-perfect life they seemed to have then? Maybe, she had believed she was. But in any case, it was soon gone.  
As her world was narrowed down to the four walls of their home, her hoped-for career in the realm of academe just a dot in the rear-view mirror, mornings soon lost their joy. When her daughter was small, they became just one dispiriting stage in the endless grind. There was always a pile of dirty washing, housework that needed doing, and a wailing baby to be quieted. And she bore the weight of it all. Daddy did no more than kiss his little girl goodbye on the way to the door.  
As things began to change, when Anna too had a train to catch or somewhere to be, the start of the day became a time of noise and panic as she rushed to do all that had to be done while William simply sat, the still calm centre of the storm, reading his paper and sipping his coffee. Was there ever a time when she had not felt it was all up to her? Had he ever brought her a cup of tea in bed, laid the table, got Christine dressed, checked her homework, packed her a lunch?  
No.  
Of course not.  
That was not how the distribution of responsibilities worked. His role was to earn the money to finance their lives, and work for him stopped at the threshold. Inside the house he was the other child, to be cared for and pampered, and not to be bothered with unimportant domestic matters. The petty business of bus tickets, PE kit and money due for the next trip, menial tasks like loading the dishwasher or hanging out the laundry… all that was beneath him.”  
From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks  
______________________________________________________  
The sky was clear, but the wind was biting cold as Natalie returned home from her daily walk around the village. She had pulled her scarf up to cover her mouth, wary of letting the chill air into her lungs. She felt fine, energised even; the surgery had improved her circulation, and her mind was less focussed on her pulse. It was a joy simply to get back to doing the everyday, simple things that had become her chosen routine: a daily walk, a few household jobs, writing, reading. And despite the apparent tedium of that to an observer, Natalie herself did not take any of it for granted. She never had, because for so long she had not been able to choose. Her time was not her own for so many years. There was work, paid or unpaid, always there; obligations to be fulfilled, expectations to be met.   
Not all of it had been a chore. Raising Helen was the great joy of her life; her last job had been great fun and the knock-on effects of that workplace validating. But she had never known the real freedom that these last few years had brought. Even now, with publishers’ deadlines and advances to earn, not to mention serious illness, the burdens of her former life had gone and not been replaced. But despite that, even after the operation, she still lived with the constant nagging feeling that this good life she had stumbled into would be taken from her. That she could not possibly be destined for this. That she did not deserve it.  
She stood in the kitchen doorway, stamping her feet on the flagstones to encourage the blood to flow. Her boots were snug but the ground was frozen and the cold had leached up into them while she was out. Stepping across the space she leaned her bottom against the cream enamel front of the Aga, letting its warmth flow up and down to her chilly extremities. Clever old Ernie, she thought. He’d had the foresight to change to a gas-fuelled one, making life easier for himself in his last years, and meaning there was no need to stoke the fire to cook dinner. Feeling less like an icicle now, she shuffled off her ski jacket and hung it on its hook by the outside door. The room was cosy enough to tempt her to linger, but there was something else she had to do before she could watch the afternoon’s matches in comfort. She headed for the door that led to the passageway connecting the kitchen to the rest of the house.  
Natalie had learned a new skill since she inherited Holly Cottage: the small sitting room was heated by a wood burner and fire management had not been a thing in her life before. Nowadays she was quite the connoisseur of logs, firelighters and the best kinds of paper to get it going. Truth is, she loved it. There was something elemental about the process, about the smell of wood smoke and the flickering light it gave after dark. Nothing was cosier than curling up on the sofa in front of a fire on a cold wet night. It was undeniably romantic.  
None of that, Nat. There is no romance, not for you. Especially not with him.   
Her phone vibrated. It was her oldest friend, Maxine.  
• Morning. Hows things?  
• Fine. Bit cold here but im in the warm. You?  
• Yes ta. Same. The boys are at football practice so ive got me feet up with a novel  
• Any good?  
• Not sure yet. It’s by some woman called Banks  
• :)  
• All ready for next week?  
• No  
• Hes insisiting hes still coming despite the dire predictions  
• Of course he is. He still wants that snog  
• Max, STFU  
• LOL  
• Its not happening. Its just friendship. And work  
• Yeah, right  
• Stop saying that. Its not helping  
• Nat, just see what happens, OK? Seems to me hes going to a lot of effort for a new ‘friend’  
• Anyway, I need to get back to my book. Im starting to think that it might even be quite good  
• :)  
• CU tomorrow love xx  
Natalie knelt down on her mother’s handmade rug by the fireplace, opened the door of the burner and laid the fire ready for later. Simple manual tasks have a pleasure of their own, she thought; they might be repetitive and sometimes tedious, but they can leave you with the satisfaction of a job well done. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece above her. It was almost noon.  
Her mind wandered again. Did I ever derive such satisfaction from household tasks before, she mused? When I was back there, back with him? Probably not, she thought. She had taken pleasure in ironing Helen’s clothes, and cooking sometimes, but the rest… She thought of the way she used to see the great spread of chores, how it was like some Sisyphean mountain that she had to climb constantly. There is little pleasure to be gained from doing dull things for an ungrateful person, knowing that tomorrow or next week or next month, you would have to do them all again. The only time he even noticed was when there was a problem: an omission or a breakage.   
She fetched herself a glass of water and went through to her study. Before Ernie bought it, Holly Cottage had actually been two dwellings, and this was the kitchen of one home. He had made it into an office, and Natalie thought it perfectly suited to that purpose. The large window gave onto the garden and filled the room with light for most of the day.   
She sat down and switched on her computer. There was time for her to do at least a couple of hours of work before she had lunch and settled down to watch the first game. Opening the document that Vinnie had sent her, she knuckled down to it.  
______________________________________________

“She was going to be late again. Chrissie would be standing there by the gate, alone apart from the disapproving Mrs Doughty. It wasn’t her fault, but nobody would care about that. All they would see was that, once again, Christine McCullough’s Mum was tardy. She parked around the corner from the school in the ominously deserted bays and ran. Her apologies were accepted with the accustomed ill grace; Chrissie’s teacher had more important things to do than stand around waiting for a parent to collect her child. As Anna watched the wide back retreating towards the school entrance, she spotted the head teacher’s face at his office window.  
Another black mark, no doubt. Something to be brought up at Parents’ Evening. Another metaphorical stick for William to beat her with. It wouldn’t matter to him either that she was late because they were short-staffed at work and so she was doing half of another person’s job as well as her own. That nobody was allowed to leave until the kitchen was spotless and everything was put away. That she had pleaded and been brushed off, not least because she had been called away one day just a few weeks earlier when Chrissie was tripped by a boy in the playground and broke her wrist… She owed them a couple of hours for that, at least. Just because you have kids, we all have kids, the job’s the job...  
“Come on sweetie, let’s get home. I’ve got some pizza from work in the car. Fancy that for your tea?”  
Her daughter brightened up. Mum’s job did have its advantages.  
It was the injustice that was hard to bear. Even now, after adulthood should have taught her that life worked that way, that she had to grin and bear it, she still hated to be judged by people who knew nothing of her struggles and cared less. Only her mother understood, and these days she was not in a position to do more than be sympathetic. And Anna had long since stopped sharing the burden fully, even with her - this was her bed: she had made it, she had no choice but to lie in it.”  
From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks

___________________________________________________

• Hey! Well done you! Scotland played so well  
• Thank ye. But I can hardly take credit for the lads  
• Why not? I do when England win at anything (rarer in some sports than others, I admit)  
• And Im sure beating them/us is the sweetest!  
• OK, Ill take it then. And it is, aye ;D  
• Oooh, I love it when you talk Jock-y   
• Hahaha  
• Did you play at school?  
• Rugger? Oh yes. I have the scars… Captain of the house team IIl have you know.   
• And represented the school, on tour and everything  
• Oh - let me google this…  
• That is a bad idea  
• Oh My… well, werent u a bit skinny?  
• How very dare you  
• LOL  
• 6 feet of knotted string  
• Madam, I may have been scrawny but I was damn fast  
• OH... one of the girls then, as Will Carling used to say ;))  
• I was a back, yes. And I thought you were congratulating me on Scotland’s magnificent victory, but I see now it was just an excuse to unleash a tirade of abuse  
• Oh no, Thomas. When - if - that were to happen, youd know. This is mild teasing  
• Mild? Well, WE STILL WON SO THERE :P  
________________________________________________  
At eleven, Natalie gave in and decided to move her dozing from the sofa to the bed. She locked up and switched off the lights downstairs. All was quiet, as usual. Her nearest neighbour was diagonally across the road, but out of sight behind a high yew hedge. No streetlights at this extreme edge of the village, so it was pitch black, as it can only get deep in the countryside of crowded Britain. In the summer, there would be owls hooting and perhaps a nightingale in a bush somewhere nearby, but in the dead of winter the only sounds were those made by the wind rattling around the eaves and shaking the apple trees in her garden.   
It was cold but dry; no sign yet of the blizzards that were being predicted, causing the inevitable doom-laden headlines in the press. With most of England between her and the dreaded Beast from the East, Natalie hoped, as she got ready for bed, that she would not be affected too much. Despite being practically in the foothills of the Cambrian Mountains and just below the great rise of Hergest Ridge, the village itself was sheltered and rarely got snow. And she thought that surely, if things changed before Tuesday, Tom would see sense. He didn't want to get stuck out in the back of beyond with her, so far from his metropolitan life.   
And his dog…  
• I just had a thought. R u bringing Bobby?  
• I hadnt planned to. Why?  
• Would he fancy an outing to the sticks?  
• You said the S word. The Bobster LOVES a good stick  
• I was just thinking how nice he would look on the rug by the wood burner  
• And I’ve got a shitload of sticks  
• Hed love it. Thanks :)  
• Well, pass on the invitation. I don't mind if he declines in favour of his ‘quiet time’  
• LOL  
• Hes coming. His Dad’s word is law  
• Oo-er  
• Only for him. Nobody else takes a blind bit of notice  
• Only a few gazillion fangirls  
• Oh please  
• Night xx  
• Night-night xxx


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would always rather be happy than dignified.”   
> Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

_“She stared at her purse in disbelief. ”Oh...sorry… I thought I had…”_

_Anna’s cheeks burned with humiliation and fury. Her mind had jumped rapidly from an initial thought that she’d been robbed to the sickening realisation: William must have taken it. She mumbled an apology and asked the salesperson to hold the books for her while she popped home for her cheque book. She asked one of the playgroup ladies to watch Chrissie for her and ran back down the road, through the drizzle, her heart pounding and anger boiling in her veins, spurring her to go faster._

_He hadn’t bothered to ask, not even to tell me, she thought, her teeth grinding, just went in there and helped himself to all the notes. Had I told him there was going to be a book stall at playgroup today? I’m sure I did, not that it would have made any difference… A further, even more appalling thought crossed her mind: would the cheque book even be there? Had he taken that too? Why wouldn’t he, just to be totally certain of ruining her plans? Even if it is, I will have to ask about the cash, if only to prove I have some handle on what was in my purse, that I’m not the total airhead who’s useless with money he says I am. But I will have to choose my words with care..._

_That Child Benefit money was the only cash she had that she could spend without him counting every penny. He occasionally asked where it went and the answer was always the same. It was spent on things for Chrissie; clothes, shoes, toys, books. That was the intended use after all. For the most part Anna used it as her fund for the extras that she couldn't pay for out of the housekeeping, like today. It was the easy route, as long as the need was not for a large sum, because any request for extra expenditure would have to be made repeatedly and with a full explanation every time. And even then, she would usually get the same responses: either ‘can’t it wait until next month?’ or that he would ‘sort it out later’. Except that he wouldn’t and she would have to go, cap in hand, to ask him again if she could have enough, for example, to replace the shoes that had become too small or the coat that no longer fitted. She could write a cheque, or pay with a card, that was not the issue. William controlled the family money, he was the one who knew the balance in the current account at all times. He could spend what he liked without Anna knowing, but if she did that there would be consequences._

_Now it seemed that he had decided that on this - otherwise unremarkable - autumn Wednesday morning that he was entitled to take this last modicum of financial independence from her, as he had everything else. And in such a way as to make her look pathetic and stupid in front of the other mothers. So he had removed most of what remained of her dignity too.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **

______________________________________________________

Tom had made good use of his Sunday thus far. Waking early after a somewhat restless night, he had gone for his regular morning run as dawn was breaking, then set about making a packing list for Bobby over breakfast. Preparing for trips away was second nature when it came to himself, but he was still getting to grips with his new housemate’s needs. A wry smile spread across his face; what a change this little scrap of life had brought to this house! Before the day Tom came home from the breeder with a sleepy, wriggling bundle of chocolate fur, daily routines had been simpler and a quick getaway for a few days the easiest thing in the world. Now he had to put someone else’s needs ahead of his own. And how nice it is not to be so focused on just me and what I want... _Humph_. Am I becoming a grown-up at last? Chuckling to himself, he returned his attention to the list.

  * _Morning. How r u today?_
  * **_I am well. Abt to go out for my daily constitutional before heading to Maxine’s for lunch. You?_**
  * _Im good. Had my run, just finishing bfast. And thinking abt canine matters_
  * _As you do_
  * **_Oh yes?_**
  * _His packing, to be precise. Do you have space for Bobby’s bed anywhere? If not, Ill just bring his blankets and the pad._
  * **_How big is it?_**
  * _60cms x 40. The pad fits inside that but is more flexible so can be squeezed in if necessary_
  * _I don't want him to be a trip hazard_
  * **_Theres plenty of room in the kitchen. Hell be cosy curled up by the Aga. Or if you prefer, he can go in my study. Bags of floorspace in there._**
  * **_See what u think when you get here_**
  * **_And btw_**
  * **_Im NOT a little old lady at risk of falling, Thomas_**
  * _Of course not. I meant for either of us. I know cottages can be cosy_
  * _Knowing him itll be the Aga, hes a softy, despite his sporting heritage_
  * **_LOL. Bless his heart_**
  * _Thanks. TTYL xx_



Tom smiled to himself, then the trickle of unease that had been there on and off for days returned. He stood up and put his mug in the dishwasher. Bobby got to his feet eagerly but flopped down again with a heavy sigh when Tom sat back down and picked up _The Observer._ He tried to focus on the front page, but it was too late: his mind was back at it, worrying at the same problem that had been preoccupying him since Wednesday night.

He liked Natalie, very much. He felt comfortable with her. She was clever, funny, so talented, beautiful. He found himself thinking about her, wanting to talk to her, to look at her. But he was uncertain what was happening between them. He felt as if there was a minefield in his path. It was obvious from the concise but rather harrowing picture she had painted for him that her marriage had been emotionally abusive; and more recently, she had been seriously ill. He felt there was something, that night, as she was leaving. A definite frisson, a spark, a crackle. He felt it strongly, the attraction. He had almost kissed her. He closed his eyes as he remembered the way her mouth had looked. How he had wanted to taste it. He thought that she might have wanted it, too.

… But what was she thinking? The age difference? It’s not important, but perhaps it did bother her. She might be wary of getting involved with someone like him for all the obvious reasons. And, of course, there was more at stake than just any possible awkwardness if they were to start something that could fail. They were going to have to work together on the film. Not all the time, but nevertheless a good working relationship would be crucial.

“Right!” he said to himself firmly, getting up again. Bobby had leapt up again and began wagging his stump of tail vigorously.

“I think it’s time, don’t you, Bobs?”

This led to a cacophony of barks and squeaks as the spaniel jumped around while his master gathered up what was needed for a walk _._ His own jacket, the pockets loaded with a supply of poo-bags (add those to the packing list!) and a few tiny treats to reward good behaviour, hat and gloves, and always lastly, Bobby’s little wax-cotton coat and the harness and lead. Because getting those off the hook by the door made the hysteria reach new levels: the final, unequivocal confirmation.

“OK, OK, that’s ENOUGH BOBBY!”

The piercing barks returned to their former volume, so not significantly quieter, plus now they were interspersed with more desperate whining, all of which only stopped once they were actually setting off down the drive.

“You’d better smarten up your act when we go to Natalie’s, Bob. Otherwise we’re both likely to get kicked out before we can charm her properly.”

______________________________________________

“You sure I can’t help with anything, babe?”

“Nah, just you sit there looking beautiful, Nat. We’re good. Coffee’s almost ready.”

Natalie was on the sofa in her best friend’s living room, leafing through the Sunday supplements and listening uncomfortably to the clattering noises coming from the kitchen. They’d finished lunch some time earlier and now Max and her two sons were doing the washing up. They had declined to allow Natalie to do so much as lift up a plate, despite her protests that she was fully fit these days. Cupboard doors were banging and muffled swearing was mixed with the scuffling-squeaking sounds of trainers on tiles. Someone was beating out a complex rhythm with what sounded like a wooden spoon.

“Will, put that where it goes, and Jamie, stop that IMMEDIATELY!”

Maxine emerged moments later, her round face pink with effort and a few stray Fairy Liquid bubbles in her curly brown hair. She was holding a tray bearing coffees and a box of chocolate pralines.

Natalie frowned at the sweets. “Max, you know I’m trying to behave!” She warded them off with a cross made of fingers. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

Her friend laughed as she put the tray down on a low table. “Bollocks! I know what it is: you just want to look good in your undies. Did you get the new ones? You probably need new ones.” She passed over a steaming mug.

Natalie frowned at her. “Please stop it, Max.” Her hot cheeks told another story.

Maxine looked at her oldest friend for a long moment. She was keen not to overdo the encouragement, but she also knew that Natalie’s confidence was still not where it should be. Especially not when it came to matters of the heart. “You told me you thought he wanted to kiss you that night at his place. Don’t you think he is going to try that again?”

“I know I said that, but now I’ve had time to think, I’m pretty certain it was all just in my head. I am dizzy from hoping, and not hoping that it was all in my head. What a mess”

“A mess? Why is this all a mess?” She opened the box of chocs and held it out.

Now it was Natalie’s turn to give a long look before shaking her head. “I mean, come off it, Max. _Him? And me?_ What do we have in common? We are going to work together… my age alone-”

Maxine wasn’t having this. “Why ever not?” Nat shook her head impatiently. “From what you tell me, he’s still flirting with you. And anyway, you look ten years younger than you are, especially now, since the op.”

Natalie looked down at her own chest. “That’s another thing,” she said quietly, “the scar.”

Maxine sighed and put down her coffee. She scooched over to sit close enough to take her friend’s hand. “Listen, Nat, this man is not Graham. He’s nothing like him. A different species.”

“Max, you don’t know him. I don’t know him. Much of what I always wanted is finally, within my reach. Why would I risk it all?” Natalie felt tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted it all, her success, him, all of it, too much. “I don’t know… I-I-I can’t. I’m too scared.” She looked into Maxine’s sympathetic face. “It would fuck up the film… No.” She shook her head again, more firmly. She picked up her coffee and took a big gulp.

“Promise me one thing, Nat.”

“What?” Even as she said it she knew she would make the promise. “You are one of the bravest people I have ever met. Don’t become a coward now. Let things play out. See what happens? If he declares his love, or whatever, no, _listen,_ really,” Natalie had barked out a laugh and waved at her dismissively, “if he makes a move, you’ll let him?”

“Max, please, stop-”

“I know you. Don’t run for the hills now. You should grab it, Nat. Carpe diem, an’ all that. He seems like a decent person. He’s fucking gorgeous. Even with that tramp’s beard.”

Natalie nodded, smiling slightly. “He is, yes.” She took in a deep breath and straightened her back.

“Yesssss!”

_________________________________________________

The drive home from Maxine’s house on the outskirts of Worcester was a pleasant one, and Natalie always enjoyed the way the cultural landscape morphed en route from the upper edge of the Malverns to the Radnor Hills, northernmost tip of the Black Mountains. Places with such quintessentially English names such as Knightwick, Bredenbury, Stoke Prior and Monkland, gradually gave way, as she travelled westwards, to the more Celtic: Dilwyn, Woebley, Bradnor Green. Holly Cottage was in border country, the Welsh Marches; she lived on the edge of Offa’s kingdom, ancient Mercia, a land of bloody battles and long-held resentments.

It was beautiful there, too. Green and lush, thanks to the westerly winds, and rich with hedgerows and trees, it never failed to cheer her heart. It was not her childhood home; Nat was a city girl, born in Norwich, in flat old Norfolk. University had taken her to Leicester, where she had stayed throughout her subsequent marriage; William was a local boy. She liked it there, with its exotic multicultural colour, but when the chance came to leave both the city and most importantly, the toxic situation, she had decamped happily for the rural delights of Herefordshire.

That was five years ago, and Lower Hergest and especially Holly Cottage were home now. A place of peace and safety. She had settled in quickly, despite barely knowing the place except from a few brief visits to see her uncle. It was warm and cosy, and the locals more welcoming than she had expected. A new start; a new life. This Sunday evening, as she guided her car through the dark along the narrowing lanes, she tried to imagine Tom there. In her home. It was really happening, in just two days. He will fill the space, she thought, he’s so tall. His energy, too. Her stomach did a slow somersault as the memory of their last encounter crossed her mind. Would he have kissed me, she wondered, if the cab driver hadn’t buzzed again? Would I have kissed him back, or run away?

Ay, there’s the rub… What _would_ I have done?

Her headlights illuminated the village sign and just after she turned off to the right, down the even smaller lane with just a few houses along it, hers included. She drew up to the white painted gate and pulled her coat tight around her body as she got out into the freezing drizzle. “Another reason not to jeopardize anything,” she muttered, hurrying to wedge it open against the hedge, “I need one of those automatic ones.” She hopped back into the driving seat and edged the car the final ten or so feet onto the gravelled space outside the garage. The cottage to her left was dark, save for the security lights. And quiet. It might be nice to have a little dog to welcome me home, she thought as she gathered her bag.

Twenty minutes later she was in front of the fire with a cup of tea, her feet up on the footrest. The TV was on, but Natalie’s attention was not on it. She was deep in thought. Borderlands; places of transition. For her, this was the place where she had rediscovered herself. She had assumed when she came here that this would be where she would spend the rest of her life. Quietly managing on her share of the joint property and Ernie’s legacy. Perhaps find a job, but no need to. But things had changed. She had a new identity now, as a writer. She wasn’t rich, nor did she expect nor indeed want to be, but already she had more money of her own than she had ever had. Could her time here just be a stop on the way to something more? A bridge between one life and another?

“Ridiculous,” she muttered aloud. Scolding herself for allowing her mind to run away, to mansions on Hampstead Heath and apartments in North London, to a fantasy of a life spent in the company of writers and celebrities that would never be hers. It was a silly dream. Like this Tom business. He was a colleague, and she should be grateful for that and make sure he stayed as such. She had made herself a sandwich and now she picked it up, reached for the remote and searched to find something to engage and distract her. Finding nothing, she got a pen and pad and started to make a shopping list. _______________________________________________

  * _Hi Nat. How r u this evening?_
  * **_Good. I had a lovely lunch with Max and the boys. Now Im home by the fire making a shopping list for tomorrow_**
  * _You dont need to go to any trouble you know_
  * _Ill eat anything_
  * **_I know. Im thinking of Bobby_**
  * _Hes the same. Total dustbin_
  * **_Of course. Hes a dog. LOL_**
  * **_Seriously, are you allergic to anything? Anything you hate?_**
  * _Don't think so. And Ill try anything. Why, do you cook tripe or pig’s head or something?_
  * **_Er, nope! Just want to make sure. Ill get a few local delicacies in ;)_**
  * _Im really looking forward to it_
  * **_Me too_**
  * _Cant wait to see you. And Holly Cottage_
  * **_Its not that thrilling. Quite small and ordinary_**
  * **_Goodnight Tom x_**
  * _Goodnight Nat xxx_



________________________________________________

_“She felt her heart sink as it rose to the front of her mind again: he was due back today. The brief but welcome respite was almost over. Anna tucked the duster in the back pocket of her jeans and gathered up what she needed to take down: the cleaning caddy and the bagged rubbish from the upstairs bins. She’d come back for the vacuum and the dirty washing. Normally she quite liked this part of the week. It was the lull between her own busy job and the tension of William’s presence, and there was some satisfaction in a job well done, in a sparkling house, however brief it was. But today it felt like the calm before the storm; an empty stage ready for a Victorian melodrama to be performed._

_She was home well before William nearly every day (which in his mind amounted to her being there and doing nothing for hours) and the late afternoons were her time for domestic chores. Cleaning, ironing, gardening. Especially now she was doing her MA part-time; the weekends needed to be kept as free as possible for study. Dinner was expected to be ready when he got home, and to avoid unnecessary confrontation, Anna tried her best to comply. But it was nice when it stopped, if only for a bit. This week had been blissful. He’d been in London on business since Monday, so she had eaten when, where and what she pleased and watched whatever she chose on TV. She was able to truly relax, without the nightly ritual of judging his mood and tiptoeing around him if it was bad, as it so often was. Or just being ignored, which was almost worse. But the blessed interlude would be over soon. His text had said he needed to be collected from the station at 5.40, so in the height of the rush hour. And if she was late he would be extra grumpy, of course, no matter what the cause. It would be her fault._

_Her mobile vibrated in her pocket, making her heart beat a little faster, but when she looked it was from Chrissie, checking up on her. She missed her daughter terribly, but was glad she had got away from him. As was Chrissie. Only William seemed puzzled that his only child had been reluctant to apply to the local Uni and stay at home. That was Anna’s fault too, of course: You smother her. She can’t breathe._

_A final check on the casserole she’d put on for dinner and Anna picked up her keys and headed for the car. The traffic was as bad as usual, so she steeled herself for an unpleasant evening.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.”   
> Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

_“The top of the low wall was uncomfortable to sit on, but it was better than standing when your legs were weak or your back was aching. Anna perched, picking at a patch of yellow algae with a fingernail. It was cool out there, but not quite cold enough to send her back indoors for a coat. Moisture condensed on her face; it wasn’t exactly raining, but it was damp enough. The acrid smell of the plastics factory intensified in the water vapour. My shoes need a clean, she thought idly, her eyes drifting from here to there, not settling. Random words flitted in and out of her consciousness._

_The baby was asleep, at least. These past few weeks had been tough, what with the teething and the constant crying. Poor little thing; it wasn’t her fault, just a fact of life, but her mother was strung out, wild-eyed with exhaustion and on the verge of crying herself much of the time. So, whenever she could, that is, when her husband was occupied or her daughter was in her cot and not wailing, Anna came out and breathed while she held her face up to the sky._

_Just for a little while._

_When she first started doing this there had been a vague hope that she might learn to use the time, over in the far, dark, grubby corner of the patio as a chance to centre herself. To reset. To get a grip, as her mother might have said if Anna had ever shared the full depth of her misery with her. But instead, all that happened was she cried. Without witnesses._

_So, this little patch, out of sight of the kitchen window, where no one else ever came became hers alone. A hideaway. A place to let it out. Some of it, at least; that part she could persuade to leave. Standing or sitting there she would cry the tears she held in the rest of the day._

_And she would stay as long as she dare, because if nothing else, while she was there his voice in her head was silenced. And she could be truly alone._

_In her tear garden.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **

______________________________________________

She’d been right about the craziness: _Tesco’s_ was a madhouse. Almost no bread was left at 10.30 in the morning, and the place was full of anxious-looking people buying bottles of water and toilet rolls by the dozen. Refusing to be drawn into the insanity, Natalie stuck to her list. She had a breadmaker and a well-stocked larder. Her freezer bulged. She was confident she could survive a day or two of snow. The _Abbey Farm Shop_ was, by contrast, a haven of peaceful civility, with only the regular number of sane customers. She bought some local bacon and sausages, Hereford beef to make a curry, and a corn-fed chicken, just in case the weather extended his stay. Some bottles of cider, local veg and a block of _Little Hereford_ cheese completed her basket. She had promised Tom local specialities, after all. On impulse, she picked up a bag of artisan dog biscuits - _liver and cheese flavour ‘TAIL-WAGGINGLY GOOD!’_ \- and finally a couple of tubs of _Rowlestone Ice Cream._ Since her health had faltered some months before she’d largely eschewed desserts, but this was a special occasion; a scoop or two of that wouldn’t hurt.

Natalie had entertained guests from time to time since she moved to Holly Cottage. Helen and her girlfriend Philippa came regularly, of course, as did Maxine. There were neighbours who came over, for drinks and the occasional meal, too. But since her sudden illness and subsequent surgery, she hadn't been able to have anyone over for ages; not without Helen or Max doing all the work, anyway. She was excited at the prospect and enjoying the preparations. After so many weeks of being waited on and fussed over, it felt like a real sign she had regained her independence. That the visitor was Tom only added to the anticipation.

Once home, with her purchases put away and feeling on a roll, she went upstairs to prepare the spare room for him. Holly Cottage had three bedrooms, the smallest of which was barely more than a storage area. The only major change that Nat had made to the house so far was to put an en suite in the master bedroom soon after she moved in. The luxury of it, as well as the convenience, was out of all proportion to the cost, and the project had been a good way to get to know her new surroundings. By doing it, she had made the acquaintance of local tradespeople, compared notes with Laura and Patrick across the road (who had the same thing done a year earlier) and it made a useful topic of conversation in the post office and the pub. Everyone in Lower Hergest knew what she was having done, and they all had an opinion they were happy to share. It was a warm and friendly place to live.

She chuckled at the memory as she retrieved sheets and pillowcases from the airing cupboard and walked the length of the landing to the spare room. She made up the bed, then crossed to the main bathroom to check it was fit for her guest. It was clean, but she wiped around anyway and fetched towels. She put the radiator up a notch, as it was on the northerly side of the house and thus prone to be chilly. Shaking her head to dismiss a sudden mental image of Tom naked in the shower, she went back downstairs and forced herself to think about lunch.

____________________________________________________

  * **_Are you still sure abt coming? It looks bad your way_**
  * _Its OK. Ive got a 4x4 on loan. And the main roads are clear_
  * **_Its snowing here but not settling. But its freezing_**
  * **_And this storm is due_**
  * _Itll be fine_
  * **_Well, Ive stocked up with cheese and cider_**
  * _YUM_
  * **_We won't starve_**
  * **_And Ive got plenty of sticks for the fire_**
  * _Not for Bobby? :((_
  * **_Ive got something even better for him_**
  * _Oh yes?_
  * **_I found a box of dog toys in the garage last week. Balls, rings, all sorts. Ive put them thru the dwasher so theyre a bit chewed but sanitary LOL_**
  * _LOL Whose were they?_
  * **_Must have been my uncles dog. I have a faint memory of a labrador_**
  * _Well, the Bobster loves a new toy. Hell be ecstatic_
  * **_Excellent. See you tomorrow xx_**
  * **_Drive safely. No Loki madness!_**
  * _LOL. I will. Cant wait to see you xxx_
  * **_Ditto xxx_**
  * _Until tomorrow xxx_



___________________________________________________________

The journey had taken about an hour longer than the satnav had originally predicted, mainly because the traffic announcements had counselled against taking the most direct route over the Cotswold Hills. Thus it was mid-afternoon by the time Tom had reached Kington and turned onto Hergest Road, and his stomach began to flutter in earnest. The difficult road conditions, made worse by the over-cautious behaviour of some drivers and the lunacy of others, had taken his mind off everything else. But now he was only a couple of miles and less than five minutes from her door.

The road between the two villages was typically picturesque for that part of England: high hedges dotted with trees, field gates, pretty meadows, lanes going down to farmhouses here and there. The sprinkling of snow added to the charm. The village sign appeared against the hedge ahead of him. Almost there. Natalie’s instructions were comprehensive and he had no trouble spotting the turning. It had just started to snow again, making everything look blurry in the grey light, but there was her white painted gate on the right, just as he remembered from the photos. He pulled off the road and stopped just short of it. To his left now stood Holly Cottage, behind a waist-high hedge and the tree that gave it its name.

A dark roof of Welsh slate topped the neat two-storey whitewashed building. A central porch punctuated the front, surrounded by pots containing heathers and other small shrubby plants; a welcoming light glowed inside the glazed outer door. On the wall nearest to him was a small conservatory. As he was taking in the rest, a movement caught his attention. Natalie appeared waving from the back of the house dressed in a warm quilted coat and she hurried to open the gate for him. She was smiling and he smiled back, his heart pounding. He lowered his window.

“Hello! Where shall I park? There?” He pointed to the gravelled area ahead of him, by the garage door.

“Welcome! Yes, that’s fine. Oh, hello Bobby dear!” Loud and excited barking had started up in the back of the Range Rover. “Drive in and I’ll shut the gate.”

Had he imagined some kind of romantic reunion? A magical moment in which all doubt and nervousness was swept away? He may have done, but this was real life, not a movie. The chill wind and snow didn’t encourage dallying, so Nat led both of them towards shelter as quickly as possible. They followed her around to the back porch, within which a collection of walking sticks and poles leaned against the wall, between a row of coat hooks and a low bench seat obviously intended for sitting on to put on or take off boots. Opposite that was a small low wood store. The porch led into the kitchen, and Tom stepped in, took a deep breath and instantly felt at home. The atmosphere, the style felt familiar to him, as if he had been somewhere like it many times before. Pale green Shaker-style units under wooden counters, open shelving on the walls, a cream Aga warming the room and a scrubbed oak farmhouse table in the centre of the flagstone floor. There was delicious smell of spices and cooking.

“What a lovely room!”

“You like it?” She grinned up at him. “Me too. Entirely my late uncle’s doing. I haven’t changed anything in here. Just added my own junk.”

He looked around again. In a space beside the range was a plastic basket of dog toys which Bobby was already investigating. Glasses, mugs, plates and bowls were arranged neatly on the shelves on one wall. On another, cookery books and small appliances jostled for space. He raised an eyebrow. “I see no junk.” Then his eyes came to rest on her. Her face was glowing from the change of temperature, and she was smiling, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him.

“It’s great to see you again, Tom.”

“It’s great to be here- _OW_! Bobby! Stop that!” The spaniel was jumping up at his legs, clamouring for attention.

“Does he want to go out? You can let him off the lead in the garden, it’s completely enclosed.”

“He might.” He bent down to ruffle the dog’s floppy ears. “Need a pee, Bobs?” If he could have, Bobby might have nodded. As it was, he wagged his little tail harder. “Come on then, before I take my coat off.”

Back in the cold air, Tom took a moment to centre himself. He watched as Bobby investigated the lawn, the tarpaulin-covered woodpile and more trees in a garden than he had ever seen before in his short doggy life. The dog ran around in a frenzy of sniffing, not knowing where to start. There were traces of fox here, hedgehog there. After a minute or two he settled on the largest of Natalie’s apple trees and marked it decisively. There was the faintest whiff of another dog’s scent, and he wanted to be sure he covered that. The snow was still falling steadily, settling on the grass, and the wind was unrelenting. He was starting to get uncomfortable, so Tom rubbed his arms and called the dog to him. “Come on, Bobby, in now.”

Natalie had put the kettle on and was plating up some biscuits when they returned to the warm haven of the kitchen. “A hot drink before I give you the tour, I think. Tea or coffee?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Earl Grey, then?” She winked at him. “I know you like that. And HobNobs.”

Tom laughed and looked down at his lap. “I hope you haven’t been googling me again, Nat.”

Smiling, she turned her head, making a superhuman effort to keep it together. “What makes you think I didn’t already know all about you?”

“Oh, er...well...um-”

“I’m just pulling your leg, no need to look so worried.” Tom’s face softened a little in relief. “I won’t deny I knew a bit before you contacted me, because I _loved_ your work...don’t blush, it’s true… But I’m no Annie Wilkes. You won't wake up tomorrow chained to the bed.” Feeling rather pleased with her joke, she winked again. But then, as she reran her own words internally she felt less comfortable and began to blush violently. Tom grinned. “Oh, er, I mean-” Now he was the one laughing.

“Ehehehe. No need to look so worried.” She grunted and he took a deep breath as she passed him his tea. “And if anything, _I’m_ the crazed fan in this relationship.”

Natalie brought over the plate of biccies and her own drink and sat down opposite him at the table. “Hardly.”

“I tracked you down, though. I sent you unsolicited gifts. You called me a stalker.”

“I was joking! And the occasional unexpected prezzie makes life more fun.” She paused to watch him take a sip. “Thank you, for all of them.”

“You’re more than welcome. It’s my pleasure.” Tom’s heart missed a beat as Natalie held his gaze. Then the moment passed as she nudged the plate towards him.

“Go on. You know you want to.”

_________________________________________________

“So, this is where the magic happens, then.”

Natalie laughed. They were in her study. Between them - Natalie insisted on helping - they had retrieved Tom’s bag and Bobby’s much more extensive luggage. The dog was set up in the cosy nook in the kitchen with a rubber bone and one of the fancy biscuits from the farm shop while his owner was shown around. This was the first stop on the tour. Tom stepped over to look out of the window.

“Not exactly.” She fingered the manuscript on the desk. “I’ve just finished going through the last lot of notes my editor sent back on this.” Tom glanced hungrily at it. “If you’d like to, you can read it while you’re here.”

“If you’re sure you don't mind.”

She smiled shyly. “It’s more or less there. But I should warn you: it’s not much like _The Harris Particle._ ”

Tom vacillated. He knew the subject matter of this novel was very personal and painful, but he was eager to read more of her work. He looked at the woman before him. She was around six inches shorter than him, with dark blonde hair cut in a fashionable asymmetric style. Her face was oval and winter-pale, with green eyes that were watching him with a sharp intelligence. He didn’t know her age, but guessed she was no more than ten years older than him. She had the kind of beauty that comes with age, from inside; there was a grace and strength in her expression that made his heart lurch with longing for her. That she should offer him this chance to see inside her soul moved him deeply.

“I’d love to read it. Thank you.”

Natalie nodded, and after a moment, looked up into his face, smiling again. Tom stepped closer and opened his arms. After a moment’s hesitation she accepted the hug. He felt himself wanting to hold on longer, but managed not to prolong it too much, despite the fact that she smelled lovely and her warmth and softness were intoxicating. He released her with a light laugh and she cleared her throat.

“OK, right, well, shall we move on?”

_______________________________________________

After he had been shown the rarely used dining room, the conservatory with the treadmill he sent, and his bedroom, Natalie left Tom to unpack his overnight bag and went downstairs. Bobby jumped up and greeted her eagerly when she went into the kitchen, looking around her legs for his master. He wondered where Tom was, but this person was friendly and she gave him a tasty snack just now. When it became obvious that his human wasn’t coming immediately, he settled back down in his bed and finished the last few morsels of the savoury biscuit.

Natalie smiled at him, then checked on the curry that she had made for dinner. Seeing it was coming along nicely, she glanced at the clock over the back door: five-thirty already! Time to offer Tom an aperitif, she thought, and at that moment he walked in.

“Your timing, sir, is impeccable. Would you care for a glass of our very best local cider?”

“Sounds great! Yes please.”

She grinned and went to the larder to fetch a bottle. She passed it to him over the table. “Open it for me, would you? I’ll get some glasses.” Having got them off the shelf, she found a dish and filled it with Bombay Mix and set everything on a tray. “Let’s go through to the sitting room, shall we? It’s nice and cosy in there.” Tom nodded, added the bottle to the tray and carried it as he followed her along the hallway to the front of the house. Bobby trotted at his heel, his new toy firmly gripped in his teeth.

They chatted easily enough; perhaps the cider helped. They talked about the film, the village, the weather. He joked, she laughed, Bobby wagged his tail happily when his name was mentioned, rubbing his head against Tom’s leg - or Natalie’s, once or twice - when he felt neglected. After half an hour, Natalie decided she should get dinner finished before she had much more to drink, so they made the return journey after stoking the fire. She put the rice and Bombay Aloo on to cook while Tom laid the table.

_______________________________________________

“ _It had been years since she’d felt this good about herself. Her step was light as she walked up the path and she swung her bag as she went, humming quietly to herself. The words rattled around in her head, and no matter how hard she tried, however many times she replayed them, there were unremittingly positive._

_“We are upgrading your post, so that means you get an upgrade, Anna. You more than deserve it. You have become the most valuable member of the department. We couldn’t operate half so efficiently without you there.”_

_She couldn’t wait to tell William; it was more money, with a handful more hours a week. Chrissie was nearly 17, old enough to cope with a little less maternal support. And off to uni soon with all the costs that would entail. He’d approve, surely?_

_And there was the other thing. What her line manager had said at her annual review: “Have you considered doing a further degree? It seems a waste not to use your capabilities. It wouldn't hurt your prospects here, either.”_

_It occurred to her that she felt appreciated. Valued, for her abilities. For herself. For being Anna. It was an unfamiliar sensation. In fact, one unknown in her adult life._

_She should have known what would happen. Her bubble was burst as soon as he got home._

_“Oh really? Good.” A deep breath, his eyes sweeping around the room, not settling on her once. “What’s for dinner?”_

_That’s it, is it? Why had she expected anything more from him? He wasn’t interested in anyone else. Only Christine mattered to him at all, but even then, purely as a reflection on him, and mainly because his sainted mother wanted to be able to boast to her ghastly friends - as if she had contributed in more than the most perfunctory and grudging way._

_Anna knew that this Victorian state of affairs was anachronistic, but negotiations seemed impossible. Nor did she see any alternative. How could she change her situation? Where could she go if she were to leave? How would she live? He controlled all the money. And she could never leave their daughter alone with him, so no. It must simply be endured. Maybe she could leave in eighteen months, a couple of years, perhaps. When Chrissie goes to uni. But where to? Mum is gone, there’s nowhere else. And how would he react? He might take it out on their daughter._

_No. A few more years. Just enjoy work and endure home. Keep your head down. Perhaps do that MA, like Heather said. Keep holding on, for my baby. Until she gets her medical degree. Until both of us have the hope of not being dependent on him._

_Maybe then.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **

_______________________________________________

“Have they given you a publishing date for the novel yet?”

Natalie looked up. They had been in a comfortable silence, with both of them looking at the fire. Bobby was curled up on the rug in front of it, looking as at home as she had imagined he would. Dinner was eaten, washed up and cleared away and they were infused with spicy Indian goodness, warm and snug at either end of her three-seater sofa.

“No, not yet. It’s going to the editorial board next week. Vinnie was waiting for me to give him the nod.” She glanced down the sofa at him; he’d taken his boots off, stretched out his legs and rested his stockinged feet on the footstool. How could someone dressed in just a shirt, jumper and jeans look so wonderful? The amber glow of the fire made the reddish tints in his hair and beard shimmer and bathed the smooth plains of his face. When her gaze reached his eyes, she discovered they were on her. She looked down quickly.

“And the new work? I know I said I wouldn’t ask, but-”

“You did. But it’s OK.” She sighed. “I’m horribly behind, what with the operation and everything. Gipping have given me an extension, but I’ve hardly written more than a few hundred words since I went into hospital.”

Tom didn’t say anything, just leaned over and squeezed her hand. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but it sent a charge of electricity through her; a surge of desire that made her throat constrict and her whole being quiver. Her eyes rolled shut as she battled the impulse to lean towards him in response. His fragrance filled her head. She was intoxicated, but she fought it.

“Well,” she said, gently but firmly pulling her hand out from under his and shuffling to the edge of her seat, “I think I’m ready for bed.” Seeing his face fall, she wondered again if she had misjudged the situation. “Sorry, I’m sure it’s a bit early for you. Since the op, you know, I-”

“No, no, of course you need your rest.” Tom stood up and offered a hand to help her. She took it, needing more of his touch. “Perhaps I might have the manuscript? To read?”

“If you’re sure.” He nodded, smiling and she felt her heart lurch again. “It’s still not quite the finished article, but-”

“I’d be honoured.”

Happy to have an excuse to leave the room and the stifling emotions that had bubbled up in there, she led him back to the study. He took the fat manuscript from her.

“It’s a bit scruffy. I made a few notes and did some corrections on it. I like to read things through on paper before I send them back. I see things I miss on the screen sometimes.”

Tom held _The Tear Garden_ to his chest reverently. “It’ll be interesting to see those. You know I have ambitions…”

She shrugged. “Oh, I’m hardly an example to follow. I’m still learning myself.”

He wanted to kiss her then. Her face, in the half-light from the hall. The look in her eyes: calm, modesty perhaps… But she seemed a little uneasy with him. There had been that crackle again, just now. But still, it is bedtime. I must say goodnight. “Even so.” He smiled. “Oh, er...I should let Bobby out for a final pee.”

“Of course. Just make sure you lock both doors - the porch and the back door, I mean.” Tom nodded. “Not that this is a den of crime, but the outer door can come open in the wind.”

“And it is pretty windy tonight! OK, I’ll do that, no problem.” He stepped aside to allow Natalie to pass him and then followed her back into the hall.

“Goodnight then, Tom.”

Her face turned up towards his and he simply had to kiss her cheek. There was no alternative. He let his lips linger and his free hand rested on her shoulder for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary. Natalie felt it again: that desperate need. And from him, too; he did want more. And so did she.

“Goodnight, Nat. Sleep well.”

“You too. And you, Bobby, dear.”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”   
> Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

It was still very early - five forty-seven, her bedside clock said - when Natalie gave up trying to drop off again and got up to make a cup of tea. The wind had been howling round the eaves all night and the noise broken into her sleep several times. She had peered out of her bedroom window just now, but it was still totally dark. How bad was it, she wondered. Were they snowed in?

She stood listening for a moment, but all seemed quiet indoors, so she pulled her warm bathrobe over her pyjamas and opened her bedroom door as quietly as she could, tiptoeing along the creaky landing and descending. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she glanced to her left and saw a shape amongst the darker shadows in the sitting room.

“Tom?”

A cough. “Yes.” He stood up slowly and Bobby appeared at her feet, his happy doggy face gazing up at hers. “I’m sorry, did we wake you?”

“Not you. The wind.” She stepped into the room, turning on the wall lights. His face was pale and his eyes looked red. “Are you feeling alright? Did you sleep OK? Was the bed-”

“It was fine. Very comfortable, in fact. No, it’s me.” He shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the low side table where her manuscript was lying. “Well, that is, your book…”

Natalie was unsure how to react. Was he disappointed? Had the content horrified him? “Oh, well, I’m... _sorry_?”

Before she could say more his arms were around her, and the warmth of his neck was against her cheek. She could feel his heart beating, fast, through the soft cotton of his well-worn sweatshirt. His voice made her tingle.

“No, no. Oh Nat, the book is wonderfully written. But I... it’s so painful to read.”

She nodded, unable to speak. It felt so good to be there. Safe. Bobby rubbed against their legs and sniffed, then settled back down on the hearth rug. Natalie heard the crackle of the fire; the room was warm. Tom must have kept it going through the night, something she rarely bothered to do. Unwilling to move, she sighed deeply and leaned a fraction more into his embrace. Just a few more seconds. It’s so nice here. Then she felt the hard lump of the implant between them, against her ribs. The reminder of her reality made her withdraw, just by millimetres.

Tom felt her leave him. He wanted to keep her in his arms. To protect her from more harm. To make an attempt, however inadequate, to wipe away all the years of cruelty she had been through. He stood still, not releasing his hold, sensing her relaxing again. He listened to the sounds of her house; to the spit and rustle of the fire and the ticking of the radiators warming up on the timer. Canine snores from the rug; the mournful moaning of the wind around the cottage. The steady rhythm of her breathing against his body. Then she took a sharper breath.

“I was actually on my way to put the kettle on.” She spoke against his skin, sending a thrill through him.

“Allow me.” She began to protest. “No, really. I need to let Bobby out again, and anyway, it’s my turn.”

She watched them leave and sat down on the sofa, unable to stop smiling. Whatever the motive, it was undeniably lovely to find such caring in her life; to be truly seen. She could hear him opening cupboards and filling the kettle. Her tummy did another little flip. She hadn’t felt like this about anyone since… Let’s face it, Nat, since Graham. Since the early days. The good times, when he at least seemed to care. Perhaps he did, then, she thought. She was never really sure what was going on inside. Later, he was so closed off, in his little _Graham Bubble_ , where only he and what he cared about mattered. Nothing outside of it was even happening, let alone important.

She had clung to the memories of the happy years for so long, hoping that they might return. But she knew they wouldn't. His mother was the same: the centre of the universe, and you’d better not forget that. Natalie had never been much good at pretending to like someone when she didn’t, and when almost overnight Iris stopped being the loving mother-in-law and began making bitchy remarks, it wasn't long before she was the one in the wrong. It was the hypocrisy that got her goat: she would play the loving Grandma in front of others but refuse point blank to help in any practical way when Natalie needed it. In fact, she had gone out of her way to be hurtful, and eventually the relationship became so bad that not even her desire to avoid a row with Graham could make Natalie hide her dislike.

Standing up to break the torrent of bad memories, she opened the log burner and added some wood. Tom appeared in the doorway with a tray, a damp-looking Bobby at his heel.

“It’s still snowing, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’ve towelled him down but he’s so hairy…”

“He’s fine. Do you like the snow, Bob?” The spaniel grinned up at her. “How’s the garden looking?”

“Very white.” He laughed lightly as he sat down beside her and passed her a mug of tea. “I fear you might be stuck with us.”

Natalie brought her hand to her mouth in a show of mock horror. “Oh dear, how sad, never mind.”

They both laughed that time, and when their eyes met, neither looked away.

_____________________________________________

By the time Natalie had showered and dressed and was getting breakfast underway, it was light enough to see the damage. There were several inches of snow covering everything in the back garden, with tiny drifts here and there, against tree trunks and other obstacles. As she turned the sausages in the pan, Tom and Bobby returned from a scouting trip to the road. The former had a broad grin on his face.

“The road’s pretty bad. Solid snow, a foot deep in places. Impassable, I’d say.”

“You look rather pleased about that.”

He chuckled, looking downwards and then up into her eyes, shyly, in that way of his she found unutterably appealing. “Well… apart from the fact that it looks as if I won’t be getting my run in today, I can’t pretend I mind being here a bit longer. That is, if you don’t object to we two chaps hanging around another day or so.”

Natalie smiled, and was alarmed to feel tears pricking at her eyes. She was happy beyond measure, but that joy was mixed with confusion and anxiety. She felt she was barely on the edge of control. “Of course not.” With an effort, she widened her smile. “It’ll be lovely to have your company.” She turned back to the pan, relieved to have an excuse to look away from him.

Tom watched her obviously tense back, and the jagged breaths she was taking. His heart ached for her, and his body, too. But he must be patient. He sat down at the table, at the place she had laid for him opposite hers, his eyes still on her. Minutes passed, as she cooked and moved around the room fetching the marmalade and butter, getting the brown sauce out - would he prefer ketchup, or mustard? - and breaking eggs into the pan. He saw her regain her composure through doing these familiar tasks, and he was pleased to see her face less strained when she placed a brimming plate in front of him.

“This looks marvellous.”

“All local. The sausages and bacon are from the farm shop down the road, the eggs are from a lady in the village who keeps hens. Even the flour in the bread is from a mill just the other side of Leominster.”

“What about the coffee?” He pointed to his glass. “And there’s an orange grove in Hereford, then, is there?”

“Very funny.” She swiped at him scoldingly. “No, sarkey. But give global warming a few years…”

He looked at her face, his eyes probing. She wished he wouldn’t do that; it made her feel dizzy. “You made the bread?”

She nodded. “In the machine, so cheating, really. But yes.”

“Wow.”

“Enough questions, Thomas! Eat up before it gets cold.”

All was quiet for a few minutes, just the radio burbling in the background, and the sounds of eating. A few compliments were passed about the food and accepted graciously. When his plate was empty, Tom picked up his mug of coffee and took a sip.

“Can I ask you something? About the novel?”

Natalie had just finished eating, so she took a moment to straighten the cutlery and move her plate to one side. “Yes, of course. What do you want to know?”

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “You don’t have to answer, because it’s pretty personal.”

She shrugged her shoulders, not meeting his intense gaze. She thought she knew what he was going to ask, and she was right.

“There are some fairly horrible incidents in the book. Petty cruelties that Anna suffers, and a few big ones, Did those things actually happen? And the atmosphere...his attitude… Was that what it was really like for you?”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on a knot in the wood a foot in front of her. There was that feeling again. The one she had battled with while writing it, and before. While living it.

Shame.

Terrible, physically painful shame. That she should have put up with it. For so long.

“Oh, Nat-”

“I’ve changed a few details. Moved things around in time, or place, but basically, yes.” She dared a glance at his face. He looked distraught. “Oh, Tom, don’t-”

He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it in his. His hand was warm, and she could feel calluses on his fingers, from his guitar playing, she assumed, where they rubbed against her much softer skin. She took a breath, but it was too late: the veneer of control was gone. His gentleness, his simple, compassionate gesture had made her want to cry. She hadn't wanted to do that in front of him, but for a moment she had no choice. It only took a few seconds for her regain control, but he had seen it all. Tom held her hand but said nothing as tears flowed silently. He simply put his other hand carefully over hers, so he encompassed that part of her he could reach as she battled, then succeeded in stopping it. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't be trite. He hated it when people told him everything was going to be alright when it clearly wasn’t, and he knew that there was no way of changing what had already happened in Natalie’s life. Instead, he focused on showing her that he was there for her; steadfast in support.

She straightened her back, wiped her face with a tissue from her jeans and looked up apologetically.

“Sorry about that. It’s silly, I know.”

“Not at all.”

“But it is. I can’t change anything. And crying doesn’t help.”

He squeezed her hand a little more firmly. “Not if you haven’t moved on, no. If you’re still in the situation. But it can help a little, to let it out, surely? To talk, too? Every now and then?” He reached over and lifted her chin so their eyes met. “To someone who cares about you?”

His eyes were wet, too, she could see. She nodded, because her throat was tight again. She managed a watery smile and swallowed the lump. This is really happening, and all you are doing is spraying him with snot…

“I’m sorry Tom.” He shook his head, but she continued. “I didn't want to drag you into my misery memoir hell.”

“You didn’t.” His voice was louder now. More resolute. Perhaps even a tiny bit authoritative. He released her hands so that he could stand up and walk around the table. Pulling out the chair beside hers, he sat down. His eyes never left her face. “Why do you think I came here, Nat?”

“Because I invited you? Because we are going to be working together? Because we’ve become friends, sort of?”

He shook his head impatiently. “Do you really think I go and stay with everyone I’m working with on a project?”

“Well, no, but-”

“I’m here because I…” He stopped for a moment, weighing his words carefully. “I want to be here. There is something happening, isn’t there? Between us?”

She held his gaze for a moment. His eyes were the colour of a winter sky. They seemed to see through to her soul. Beyond conscious control, her eyes moved to follow the contours of his lips.

“Yes.” It was barely a breath.

“Do you want that?” His brow was furrowed, his heart was beating very fast and he could hear the pulse pounding in his head. Her eyes widened for a moment, then she looked down at her lap.

“I don’t know.” She heard him sigh heavily. “I... I mean, yes, I do, but…” She glanced up. He looked poleaxed by her words. “I don’t know how to do this, Tom.”

His hands were holding onto her upper arms. He wasn’t sure when that had happened; he hadn’t known he was doing it. He pulled her closer and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her lips, softly, but firmly; remorselessly. He felt Natalie touch his chest, then reach her arms up and encircle his neck, pulling him closer still. As they kissed, she seemed to relax, but simultaneously her movements became more urgent. The longer it went on, the more she wanted it. She ravelled her fingers in the curls at his nape and stroked the skin of his neck. Tom deepened the kiss a little, and she allowed his tongue to explore her mouth. Dizzy again, she held on tighter but then broke the kiss carefully.

“Nat.”

“Tom.”

Their foreheads were touching, but her gaze was on her lap again.

“Are you OK?”

She nodded. “This is all a bit, you know… overwhelming?”

He smiled. “For me too.”

“Yes, but you’re…” She took a brave glance at his face. “You’re _you._ And you’re young. And more…”

He frowned, wanting to tease her gently. “More what?”

“You know.”

He smiled innocently. “What are you suggesting, Ms Banks? That I’m a-”

Now she was blushing wildly. Things were moving fast and there was stuff she needed to say and she was messing it up…

“No, I mean, I wasn’t…”

Tom watched the expressions chasing each other across her face. It was clear to him that she was struggling to find the words to say what she was feeling, so he allowed her time. His mind drifted for a moment; the room was different in the morning. The snow outside was reflecting the orange sunrise, tinting the kitchen an eerie shade. And the ambience was changed by the figure, so tense and fragile, sitting looking anxiously at him.

“Are you alright?” She nodded. “I’m sorry, Nat. I didn’t mean to put pressure-”

“No, you’ve been a perfect gentleman, Tom.” She managed a little half-smile when he shook his head. “No, no, you have. Believe me, I know the difference.” She looked down at her hands, which were back in her lap. Tom took them tenderly in his.

“The very last thing I want to do is to upset you. I know how I feel about you, but of course, we must take this at your pace. So, if you need more time, if you want me to leave, I’m pretty sure that I c-”

“Absolutely not!” She squeezed his long fingers. “I won’t hear of it.” She felt the tension go out of him. “You have done nothing wrong, Tom. It’s me. I’m... “

“Scared?”

“Yes, a little bit, but it’s more than that.” I have to confide in him, that’s the answer. He has to understand. I think he does a bit, already. Taking a deep breath, she told him what she had been thinking. “As I think you have guessed, Graham was my first and only serious relationship. We met at Freshers’ Week and I couldn’t believe my luck. He was handsome, romantic, it was like a Mills and Boon.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “There was a brief break-up that term, when he withdrew because, he said, it was happening too fast. I remember begging my mother to let me go back home because my life was over, but two weeks later he was back on my doorstep. Apart from that, we stayed together throughout the three years. And it was good, Tom. He was loving and kind, bought me gifts… I realise now that it was a sort of act, that he was going through the motions if you like. He was treating me the way his mother expected to be treated: showered with attention and presents. It seemed normal to me then, and I was sure he loved me as much as I loved him.”

She paused and Tom shuffled his chair just a little closer so that he could put one arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder. He was warm and solid and she felt supported in every sense.

“We got married a month after graduation. We both had good jobs and we’d found our house and it was perfect. When I fell pregnant by accident after a few months, well, that only served to make it even rosier. We’d been a couple for three years, all was well. But it wasn’t. He seemed thrilled I was having her, but he was soon jealous of the attention I got as the expectant Mum, and much more so of that I gave to Helen, almost from the day she was born. He barely bothered to hide it. When she was five months old he came home one day and announced he was leaving. That he couldn’t cope with the responsibility. I was devastated, but I considered getting out because even then the marriage was not what I wanted, I knew it. But we were stuck. I had no money of my own, and my Mum was chronically ill and in sheltered accommodation by then. No room for another adult, let alone one with a small baby.”

“But he came back to you.”

“Yes, after a few days. I think his mother probably read him the riot act. Not because she cared, not about me, anyway. I think she was probably mortified at the thought of what people would say.”

She stopped again, needing to look into his beautiful face. Whenever she revisited that time, it brought with it all the worst of the emotions: shame, loneliness, repressed anger. And grief. Grief for the life she had thought she was going to have when she said ‘I do’. Tom turned his head, pulled her a little closer and pressed his lips to her temple. She leaned into his embrace.

“After he came back, well…” She shrugged. “It was worse. He made me feel I should be grateful that he had. And I became more and more isolated and insecure. I was never sure he wouldn’t do it again. From then on, I became less and less. Less of an individual, less confident, less...me. The longer it went on...”

All was quiet for a few minutes. What could she say to explain why she stayed with Graham for so long? How could she explain it to him? She barely understood it herself. Just as she was about to say something, anything, she felt him take a breath.

“You don’t have to justify yourself, you know.”

“I know, but to someone who-”

“You don’t. Not to me, not to anyone.” He leaned away a little so he could see her face. “What’s happened can’t be changed, can it?” She shook her head. “You did escape. And you’re in a good place now?”

She grinned and wiggled a touch so their bodies made more contact. “Right this minute? One hundred percent!”

He laughed breathily. “Then this is where we start from. This. Place. Right. Here.” She nodded. “This very moment. OK?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, kissed her swiftly on the mouth and then took her hands in his again. Looking her in the eyes, he began to speak.

“You didn’t deserve what happened. I know you’re going to say that it takes two, that you played your part, but the distribution of power was uneven, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but sti-”

“And you had Helen to worry about.”

“Well, yes. And as I said, the more time passed, the harder it got to…”

“Imagine being able to leave?”

“Exactly.”

“But anyway, as we have already established, that was then. You found a way, even after all that had happened. The courage that took, the strength, I can’t imagine. And you have done the very best thing with such a horrible experience: used it to make art, not to mention some money.” He winked.

This time she laughed and slapped him playfully. “Shut up!”

Their eyes met and suddenly the laughter died out. “Make me,” he said darkly.

Natalie let her eyes settle on his mouth, his lips parted and she moved towards him.

And then the doorbell rang, making Bobby bark hysterically.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice.”   
> Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

_“Those last few years of her captivity, which had the quality of a sentence in an open prison, were the hardest. Because the day-release of work, of the love and companionship of her colleagues, of their warmth and support and most importantly, their appreciation of her, gave Anna a glimpse of a life, of a world beyond William. Simultaneously, the signs of her growing confidence made his expressed contempt all the greater. He sneered at her accomplishments, found an excuse to disrupt her study, made her life as uncomfortable as he could._

_And most humiliating of all, he stopped trying to conceal his affairs._

_And so the gulf between work and home widened, and Anna lived in the hours she was away, and died a little more every time she had to return to the foul atmosphere of the house. The happier she was when she left, the harder it got to go back.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **

Her neighbour Patrick was standing on the doorstep. Even bundled up against the Siberian weather, his brown eyes twinkled visibly in his round, cheerfully ruddy face. He smiled expectantly, a snow-shovel in his hand. “Morning Nat! I wondered if you needed...oh.”

Natalie’s cheeks still felt hot, and they bloomed again as her neighbour’s eyes alighted on first the liver coat of the dog at her heel and then the famous actor standing just behind her. “That’s very good of you, Patrick. As you can see, I have visitors. This is Bobby, and Tom. Tom and I are going to be collaborating on a project.” She stepped aside to allow the men to shake hands. Patrick quickly removed his thick gloves.

“Patrick Griffiths. I’m Nat’s neighbour from across the way. Nice to meet you.” Tom saw a familiar look - mild confusion mixed with recognition - in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but…Aren’t you that actor…?”

“Yes, probably.” He looked down, smiling shyly. Natalie nudged him, teasing.

“Did you watch _The Night Manager,_ Pat?”

“Of course! Oh yes, we both loved it” He frowned, Natalie assumed he was trying to work out the connection between them. “Right, well, I was going to offer to clear your drive a bit, Nat, but you obviously don’t need me...?”

Tom grinned. “No, thanks, I can do that. But maybe... have you got a shovel, Nat?”

She shook her head. “Not like that one.” She indicated the bright yellow plastic one Patrick was holding. “Just a normal garden spade.”

“Might I borrow it for a bit, Patrick?”

Patrick handed it over eagerly. “Yes, yes, of course. Are you staying long, Tom?”

Tom laughed and looked at Natalie, who blushed again and turned her face back to the inside of the house. “We-ell, I was supposed to leave today, but it rather looks as if I might be stuck for another day or so, I’m glad to say. As is Bobby. He’s as happy as Larry here!”

Patrick bent down and ruffled the spaniel’s ears. “Well, perhaps, if you’ve no other plans, you two might pop over for drinks this evening. Before dinner? At about seven?”

Tom glanced at Natalie, his eyebrows raised questioningly. She shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Thanks, Pat! That’s very kind of you, but...” Could we? Or would it be horribly awkward? If I can’t be seen with him even at my friends’, then what’s the point? “...we’re not really sure if… that is, we haven’t really worked out what’s happening today yet.” She felt giggles bubbling under; this whole situation was turning into a scene from an Alan Ayckbourn farce.

“Of course, right...well, let me know, Nat?”

“I will.”

Patrick took his leave and Natalie closed the door. She stood still for a few seconds, her hands on the wood, her eyes closed; catching her breath, trying not to laugh. Tom put his hand on her shoulder.

“If you don't want to go, I can always say I have to take a call or something, Or, we have to work, um...late. He-”

“It’s not that.” She turned to face him. He was standing very close and it took her breath away for a moment. “It’s just all so…”

“Yes, it’s so.” His voice was lower again and it made her tingle all over. “Maybe I ought to take Bobby outside and get shovelling. For appearance’s sake?”

“Oh, er, yes…probably. Not that Patrick and Laura are gossips, or anything, but… yes. Thank you.”

“And I’m fairly sure that shifting snow isn’t on the list of approved post-op activities.”

“Well…”

“We can continue our conversation when I get back.” He winked and turned away, heading for the kitchen and the back porch, Bobby jumping excitedly at his calves.

______________________________________________

By the time they returned, both covered with a light dusting of snow and decidedly damp in places, Natalie had put a pan of warming soup on to cook and was reheating some bread rolls. The kitchen smelled welcoming as Tom shucked off his coat in the rear porch, pulled off his beanie hat and shook out his curls. Bobby stood patiently and allowed his master to towel off the worst of the damage. The pup adopted that long-suffering middle-distance stare that dogs are so good at, and Tom nuzzled his face against the silky ears before releasing his grip.

“Good boy, Now, go on, lie down somewhere warm and finish drying off, you hairy fool.”

Natalie had been watching through the glass pane in the inner door, and now she opened it to allow Bobby return to his snug nook by the Aga, via the water bowl. She went back to the hob and stirred the pot idly, watching as Tom undid his boots. She loved to see him doing ordinary things with his accustomed grace, and she found the way his muscles moved under his clothes mesmerising. Tom leaned to one side and placed his boots neatly beside hers by the outer door, then groaned as he realised something.

“Fuuuck… I haven’t got anything to put on. Oh well…” He stood up and took as few steps as possible on floor which was puddled with melted snow, pulling pained expressions as he went.

“It’s not funny!”

“No, but your face is.”

“Wet socks: yuck!” He sniffed theatrically. “That smells good.”

“Tomato and lentil. I thought something hearty would be welcome.”

“Oh yes, it is.” He kissed the top of her head lightly, his hands gently resting on her shoulders as he peered over to look at the bright red gloop. “Have I got time just to put on some dry clothes?”

“Go for it.”

Ten minutes later they were once again facing each other across her table and sharing another meal. Tom had worked up quite an appetite and it wasn’t long before he was wiping a last morsel of bread around his empty bowl. He dropped his spoon in noisily and sighed deeply. “Keep cooking food like that and I’ll never leave.”

Natalie grinned and stood, gathering up the dishes, muttering. “Promises, promises.”

She heard the loud scrape of Tom’s chair on the flagstones as he got up fast. He strode rapidly around the table and came to a stop very close to her. His right hand took hold of hers and he turned her into his embrace. Natalie was wonderfully aware of him: of his heart beating close to hers, through the soft dark blue cashmere of the sweater he’d changed into; of the powerful muscles beneath the soft skin inside his charcoal jeans; of his kind gaze, the gentle blue of his eyes caressing her face. His hands were holding her close, and she felt their warmth through her own clothes.

“Natalie.”

She looked into his eyes. “Thomas.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She swallowed convulsively and cleared her throat. You do NOT want to know that, trust me... “I’m thinking many thoughts, Thomas. Too many thoughts...”

He allowed his right hand to slide higher up her back, between her shoulder blades. The movement made her shiver with desire. He smiled to himself and kissed her temple softly. “How about some coffee, and I’ll go and check on the fire, shall I?”

__________________________________________________

The sitting room was even warmer than before, thanks to a morning of sunshine. Tom stoked the blaze, then swept through the kitchen and back, fetching fresh logs from the store in the rear porch. Natalie brought through the coffee and a plate of his favourite biscuits and they sat down together on the sofa. This time he did not distance himself. He sat close beside her, his right thigh against her left one. The contact was delicious and tantalising.

“So,” she said, lifting up her mug, “where were we?”

“You know what I’d really like to know about, Nat?”

She shook her head briefly. Her stomach churned with tension as it always had when she was preparing to recall some of the worst times in her life. Tom sensed her discomfort and spoke softly. “I’d love to hear about what made you start writing.” He leaned back, and Natalie followed suit, allowing his arm to drape over her shoulder and luxuriating in the feel of him. He made a small satisfied noise as her weight settled against the side of his chest. It made her want to press her thighs together. She cleared her throat.

“Well... it wasn’t until I came here. Once Helen left home, I started to make tentative plans. It seemed too risky to go before Helen had finished med school and her specialist training and was settled. By then she would no longer be financially dependent on Graham, and perhaps I could look for a job near her. But then, only just over a month after she graduated as a junior doctor, my dear old Uncle Ernie died. He was my Dad’s youngest sibling. Dad was a lot older than my Mum, you see, and he died long ago, when I was little.” Tom followed her gaze to the silver-framed photo on the mantelpiece. A sunlit couple with a small girl between them, dressed for an occasion. He could recognise a young Natalie in the child’s face. “Anyway, I was Ernie’s only living relative by then, and he left me everything. This house, plus all the money he’d saved from his businesses… he bred sheep, did contracting, laid hedges. All sorts of country things. And because he was alone, he’d hardly spent any of it, except on the house. He was gay, I’m pretty sure, but for his generation, and in a rural community, well...” She shrugged. It made her sad to think of him, so alone and isolated. “Overnight, I had money to live on, and somewhere to run to, so I did. Coming out here was a big adjustment, and I missed my job. I still do, in many ways. But it meant I was free to do what I wanted, to make my own decisions.”

“I can imagine. But what made you decide to try writing? Had you done much before?”

“Only work stuff, leaflets, handouts, manuals...and the academic writing for my MA. Nothing else since I was a teenager, really. I was always a reader, of all kinds of stuff, but I’d long since set aside my own minor ambitions in that area. No, I mean, it was something I’d dreamed of as a young person, like we all fantasise about careers. You must have, you did, I read that in an interview somewhere.” He smiled, nodding. “And you did it, too, unlike most of us! But no, for me it was just a silly teenage dream, no more than that, you know, the idea of being a professional writer.” She glanced at his face, so close to hers. Her stomach fluttered as their eyes met briefly.

“Well, anyway, it was a bit lonely here at first, so I tried to keep busy. I joined local groups, visited Max and the boys, but then one day Helen suggested I might try writing down what had happened to me, as a sort of therapy. It seemed like a sensible idea, so I made a start.”

“Why did you choose the novel form? Why not a straightforward memoir?”

“It felt safer. I could distance it, just a bit, make it about someone else by giving them different names.” Tom nodded. “It was quite cathartic, Helen was right.” It had been like flushing toxins away. A cleansing. “I finished a draft, printed a copy, shoved it in a drawer. I never intended to do more than that, but Maxine… well, you know that story. I had enjoyed the nuts and bolts of the process, so I kept fiddling around with bits and pieces, short things, essays... and then one day I had the crazy idea about the particle and the unfortunate family walking past _CERN_ …”

“Ah yes, _them_.” He grinned. He was very glad she had come up with that plot.

“And when Gail contacted me, well, once I had recovered from the shock… suddenly, here was the prospect of a whole new existence. I started to think everything was going to be great, I had this idyllic life, living in a lovely place and doing something I really enjoyed, without that ugliness tainting everything. And then I collapsed one day, in the supermarket in Leominster. Just fainted, out like a light, bam! Broke my arm falling, but that was easily fixed.”

“Your heart.”

“Yeah. I’d had a murmur since I was little, but apparently it had got worse. I’d hardly seen a doctor since Helen was born, and up until then I’d been perfectly OK, physically. Or at least, I had thought I was. It taught me a lesson: never think you are safe. Never assume happiness will last. Never think you deserve good fortune.”

“No.”

She sighed heavily. “Exactly.”

Tom turned a little in his seat. “No, I mean, that’s the wrong lesson.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think your heart disease is a punishment?”

“No, no… I don't believe in any higher power, no.” She grimaced. He’d misunderstood; she didn't explain it clearly. “I just think that the universe, or whatever you want to call it, tends towards balance. All natural systems do. I felt safe, because I’d got away from the marriage, from Graham. But I wasn’t. Also, I think deep down I felt I was owed something, this, maybe,” she indicated the roof over them, “but I wasn’t. It just happened. And that good luck, that and the contract with Gipping, it was balanced out by this.” She touched the top of her chest, where he could just see the dark pink edge of her scar above the neckline of her sweater.

Tom shook his head again. “I don’t believe that is true, Nat. I think that illnesses like yours happen for a million reasons, and having good things is not one of them. You are a brilliant writer, you’ve earned your money and contracts. They don’t hand those out on a whim, you must know that.” He understood imposter syndrome, but she was more than worthy of all her success, now and in the future. “And you do deserve happiness, everyone does.”

“Maybe. Anyway, my illness, it’s taught me not to be greedy.”

“Greedy? Wait… do you think that you and I… that that would be being greedy?”

Natalie turned her head and stroked his cheek with her right hand. She allowed her fingertips to brush over the edge of his curls, still damp and soft from the snow that had melted in them, then over the rougher hairs of his beard. His eyes closed and he leaned into her touch. “God, Tom… so greedy…”

The arm around her shoulder tightened suddenly and he pulled her to him. His lips met hers, kissing ardently, as his other arm reached to spread over her back. “Then I am so greedy, so very greedy, too…”

Had she ever felt like this before? Surely not. She wanted to devour him; she needed to touch all of him, to feel him, to hold him as close as two people could be. His neck, warm and fragrant, called to her lips and she answered with a kiss. She felt as much as heard him moan as his large hands pulled her onto his lap. He rubbed his face against her cheek and her neck, the feel of it making her heart quicken. But this had to stop.

“Tom, no, wait…” her breaths were shallow, panting. “Please, wait.”

“I don't want to wait.”

“I know, I can tell… and me neither, but listen.”

He paused, his chest heaving, his heart pounding with desire for her. “What’s wrong?”

She smiled sadly. “So much… This.” She touched at her scar again, He shook his head in dismissal. “And how old do you think I am?”

“Does it matter?”

“Thomas.”

“Forty-something? So what, anyway?”

“THOMAS! I have a daughter, she is a GP.” He pulled a ‘what does that mean?’ face. “I’m fifty-two, Tom.”

“Not important,” he muttered, kissing her neck again, then sucking harder. He didn’t care. He wanted her, she wanted him, and he loved her. This beautiful, sexy, mysterious, wonderful woman. As he read her books, as he spent more time with her, he had realised it: he loved her and he needed her.

Natalie tried to protest, thought she should explain that it was important, to her, but as she tried to find the words they seemed to evade her grasp, and at the same time the need to tell him was receding. All of her attention was focusing on Tom, on his mouth, his hands, the way his hair smelled, the taste of his skin. She surrendered to the moment.

“Nat, I-”

“Yeah. Let’s go upstairs.” If this is happening, I want it to be... well, in a bed, at least.

He nodded, easing her off his lap onto her feet. He stood, adjusting his jeans which were uncomfortably tight now. He took her hand and led her, as slowly as he could bear to, up the stairs to her room. Now the snow had stopped and the skies were clear, the space was filled with sunlight dappled by the dark branches of the holly tree outside. He stopped on the rug at the end of her bed and turned. Her face was pink and her eyes wide, the pupils blown with desire. He stroked her cheek with his right hand, then allowed his fingers to trace her neck and arm. He was going to make this right; as perfect as he could. She deserved that.

His touch was so gentle it served only to make Natalie need more; she lifted her hand to his neck and pulled his face down to her own. This time she wasted no time, kissing him deeply and urgently. His hands began to lift up her warm sweater and she silently cursed her choices of that morning. She had put a thin vest on underneath, to be warm. Now it was just another layer between them. She felt his fingers brush over the cotton, searching for the edge, until he gave up and pinched, pulling it out of her jeans. Things had begun to get real, he was taking her clothes off, this young, beautiful man… he wanted her. He really wanted her, it seemed as much as she did him. 

Did she remember, later, every movement, every step that led from them standing together to being naked in the bed? Not every single one, no, but she would never forget the way his skin felt when she touched his flat stomach, or how the goose pimples rippled on it as she licked his collarbones. How badly she wanted to bite his flesh, so profound was the hunger he had woken in her. How he had kissed her so tenderly as he removed her clothes. How the pads of his fingers had touched her scar lightly before his lips had done the same. How carefully he had guided her, how softly, how lovingly. How clear his desire was, how unambiguous; how unaffected by the signs of her surgery. He had felt the edges of the battery-pack under her skin, but fleetingly, without hesitation.

It was all so delicious, so sensual, so romantic but without clichés. But now, he was there above her and it had been so long. No, it has never been like this. I never wanted…

“Tom, I…”

“It’s OK. Whatever you need, Nat. Tell me. What can I do?”

She closed her eyes; his face was too distracting, the look in his eyes too moving. “It’s been so long. I don’t know…”

“Let me just try. Let me please you and then…”

She nodded. There was no shortage of need on her part, and neither, she could see, on Tom’s. But sex was a long-distant memory, and not a good one. She had held no wish to sleep with someone whom she did not love, and who manifestly held her in such contempt. Not that it had been all that good, even before things went to shit. But there was now the chance for something so different, so real, so special. Keeping her eyes closed, Natalie allowed her mind to settle on the sensations she was experiencing: the wet warmth of his tongue as it travelled down her neck, leaving a cooling trail of moisture. The heat of his lips as they kissed the length of the scar that marked the location of her sternum and beneath it, her repaired heart. He lingered there, loving this mark, this sign which signified her survival. That operation meant she was here, now. Living, breathing, making love with him in her bed. He moaned a little, so powerful was the wave of love, lust and joy that swept through his whole being. He moved to the right, catching a nipple in his open mouth and licking hard, then sucking. Natalie’s hips lifted and she groaned. Her hands grasped his neck and she pulled on the curls she found between her fingers, making him suck harder still.

Sensing her need, he allowed his hand to drift over her belly and into the hair below. Tom knew she was ready; he could smell her arousal and when his fingertips brushed her nub, it was firm. She gasped and he smiled, pressing gently at first, then circling firmly. Tom watched her face as his movements speeded up and saw her eyes open and meet his. He kissed her, overcome with love. Her hips began to move, and soon she was whimpering, her breathing hard and fast.

“Are you… is it OK?” His words were breathy, in her ear.

“God, yes, I’m...oh, Tom, I’m…”

His mouth found hers again as she stiffened and her hips began to jerk. She moaned, then groaned loudly. He muffled her cries with kisses, then gathered her against him as he rolled onto his back. Natalie settled against his torso and lifted one leg over his.

Tom kissed her hair. “Good?”

“Oh god. You have no…” She laughed, it seemed the only possible response.

“It’s been a while?”

“A while? No.” She lifted her head to look up at his face. “I never… Never, not like this, not with him.”

“Oh Nat.”

“And here you are. You.” He smiled, kissed her hair again and allowed his fingers to tease the skin on her shoulder. “You, who can make me nearly come just by taking off your boots in the porch.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “What?” He rolled them again, so once more he hovered over her. “Well, my darling, that was just the start.”


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”   
> Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

_“Bathtime was the best time; the fragrance of baby shampoo, the warm towels, the giggling. The unalloyed sensual joy of being with her daughter. Chrissie’s fine blonde hair, the softness of her skin, the delicate beauty of her tiny fingers and toes. But most of all, it was the contrast with the remainder of her life that made it all the sweeter. Her passionate love affair with Chrissie seemed only to make her husband more resentful, but she was beyond stopping it; it was too deep, to real, to natural. Unlike his own jealous attitude to his own flesh and blood, and his cruel indifference to his wife. The innocent, unfiltered affection of Christine was what kept Anna attached to the earth. Without it, she would have disappeared.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **

Natalie was in a place she had never visited before: the heights of sexual pleasure. Tom had taken here there and now he was keeping her balanced on the peak. Her body thrummed with it, her soul was floating free, joyous, deeply in love with every molecule of him. She nuzzled his temple as he drove into her, his rhythmic thrusts and guttural moans, the very animal reality of it not detracting from its romantic perfection. He has such power, she thought, a different type of power. Does he know that, understand it? I feel not, because there is no arrogance in him, just a masculine confidence that is tempered by kindness and intellect. He is the very essence of what a man should be.

And yes, I am greedy for more.

“Nat?”

She caught her breath, came back from her philosophical musing and turned her face towards his cheek. His breath rushed past her ear, he licked his lips and she wanted to taste him forever. “Yes?”

“Are you OK?”

“I’ve never been more OK in my entire life.”

“Good.” He laughed softly, not really pausing in his relentless movements. His hand stroked her hair and he kissed her urgently. “Just checking.” Then the same hand disappeared between their hot bodies and her back arched as he deepened her ecstasy yet again. She whimpered, then moaned loudly and as she tightened around him, Tom redoubled his efforts. “You feel so good...god...fuck…” His mouth found her neck and he sucked hard, as his pelvis quickened and then she was saying his name over and over until her breath was gone.

All was quiet, a few minutes later. The usual daytime sounds of Lower Hergest were muffled by the blanket of snow, and few people were about, and even fewer vehicles. They might have stayed for hours where they were, snuggled together in her bedroom on that snowy, frozen afternoon, but a plaintive whine came up the stairs.

“Someone needs you.”

Tom growled into her shoulder. He lifted his head. “I fear you are correct.”

“He’s in a strange place, poor lad. And he’s still only a baby. He probably needs a wee or something.”

“Gah! I was so comfortable then.”

“It’s a good bed.”

“It is, but I meant, I want to stay wrapped around your beautiful body.”

Natalie laughed sharply, then saw his face. He actually means it. “Oh, well…”

He sat up and stood. “I’ll be as quick as I can. Don’t go anywhere.” He looked around her room for something to throw on fast.

“Borrow my robe. It’s oversized.”

As Tom did as she suggested it occurred to Natalie that if someone were to see him like that in the middle of the afternoon they might guess what had been going on. She heard the cloying voice of that counsellor the hospital had sent her to see: “And how does that make you feel, Natalie?” Mortified? Thrilled? Excited? _Proud…_?

She watched him leave, her mind in a spin. How did she feel about what was happening? It was what she had dreamed of, but now it was real, not just a fantasy, and real life is… _complicated_. Leaning into the pillow, she took a few deep breaths to centre herself. Her house was not large, and she could hear every word of the one-sided conversation Tom had with Bobby - “What do you want, you damn nuisance? I was having a very nice time, you know... Yes, yes, I love you too, hey, watch it! You’ll trip me, you stupid...Alright, come on…” - and likewise, every other sound as he ushered the dog through to the back porch, the opening of the doors, the skittering of claws on tiles. A few minutes passed. She was just wondering if perhaps she ought to get up and dress when she heard Tom’s tread on the stairs.

“Bloody animal! He didn’t even pee, just wandered about sniffing.” He slipped out of Natalie’s towelling robe and slid under the duvet. “Brrrr! It’s too cold to be walking around practically in the nude.” He put his hand on her stomach.

She squealed. “Hey! Get off! God, how on earth did you get so cold so quickly?” Natalie was laughing and actually held his wrist to prevent him from moving his hand away.

“Waiting by the open door while Sniffy McWhinypants failed to piss in your snow garden.”

She looked into his face carefully. “My what?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, was that…? It just sort of popped into my mouth. It felt right, but if you-”

Her kiss ended the conversation. Tom’s legs and feet were cold too, but she barely noticed as their limbs tangled and they reacquainted themselves with each other’s mouths. Natalie loved the feel of his body against hers, the muscles in his legs, the skin, the hair... and then she felt him begin to move down the bed, until his head was under the duvet, level with her waist. Oh god. Graham never...I don't know the rules for this… “Tom, please...I don’t…”

He lifted his head and their eyes met. “Don’t you want me to?”

“I don’t know. Yes. You see, I...it’s not…”

He pulled himself back so his face was level with hers. He kissed her mouth, at first gently, then more passionately, until she was whimpering again. He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes from very close. “I think you’ll like it, Nat. In fact, I’m sure you will.”

She nodded and he wasted no time, sliding back down the bed. God, there he is, she thought, fifteen years younger and I am the blushing...well, not _virgin_ exactly, but… And then she stopped thinking about being embarrassed or naive or inexperienced. She thought only about him, his lips, his tongue and what they were making her feel, for what felt like hours.

_____________________________________________

They were both dozing when a distant noise cut into the peace. Natalie raised her head.

“Oh God...that’s my phone, I think.”

Tom pulled her tighter against him. “Ignore it.”

“I shouldn’t. It might be… well, I should check.”

She got up, grabbed the robe from the floor and went downstairs, trying to remember when she had last looked at her phone. The night before, she thought, at bedtime. She had texted Helen goodnight as she always did. But not since then; it hadn’t exactly been a normal day. She found her phone on the kitchen worktop. Picking it up she saw that as well as the missed call there were a raft of messages, mostly from her daughter. She immediately called Helen back.

“Oh thank god, Mum!”

“I’m sorry darling, I haven’t been looking at my phone today.”

“I guessed.” Helen sounded peeved. “I realise that in prehistoric times people didn’t keep in touch so much, but you know I worry. And with this weather-”

“I’m fine, darling. Really. We are snowed in, but everything’s fine. And it’ll be gone in a day or two.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will. But when you don’t answer messages I start to-”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I can’t help it. I know too much. I imagine all the most unlikely complications, horrible things that-”

“But I am OK now, love. You know that.”

“Yes, when I am rational, yes, I do know that.”

“I’m sorry. I should have thought to check my phone, but it’s been a funny sort of a day.”

“So, is he still there?”

“Yes. The road’s too bad for him to go anywhere today.”

“Convenient. And?”

“And what?”

“Mother.”

Natalie looked out of the window at her apple trees. The afternoon sun was painting the glittering snow that coated them a fiery shade of orange. It was a magical sight.

“Mother?”

“Don’t ask me that, Helen.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s...too personal.”

“You’re my mother! How can…? Oh…” There was silence for a moment. “Oh my god! Oh my god, Mum!”

“Helen, shhhh!”

“OH MY GOD!”

“Please, don’t. It’s...I don’t know yet...its... please, just don’t, darling.”

Helen took a deep breath and looked out of her consulting room window at the glistening white city street. She had managed to get into work unlike most of her colleagues in the practice because it was possible for her to walk from her flat in central Birmingham. The snowfall and resulting disruption to transport had made patients few and far between, giving her time to imagine all kinds of terrible disasters for her mother. But now she had begun to infer that the exact opposite of a disaster was what had actually occurred.

“OK, of course, I’m sorry… bloody hell, Mum… no, you’re right, none of my… oh my god…”

Natalie could hear the smile in her daughter’s voice. “Please tell me you are alone.”

“Yes, yes, I’m in my room at work. It’s dead quiet, as you might guess. OK, right, um... I’m sure you’ve got better things...um...I’ll let you go, but please, don’t forget to check in, OK?”

“No, I won’t. Sorry to have worried you, darling.”

“It’s OK. But Mum?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so happy for you. Bye!”

“SHHHH!”

“That was your daughter?” His deep voice was close behind her.

“Helen, yes. I haven’t looked at my phone all day.” She smiled apologetically at her own reflection in the kitchen window. “She worries about me, you know.”

“Of course she does.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. She reached behind her and touched his arm, then his flank.

“Oh Tom! You’re…” She turned in his embrace and saw she was right. It was a glorious sight. “Fucking hell! You must be freezing!”

He laughed. “Well, the floor’s a bit cold, but… you had the robe, and I was concerned.” He stepped back into her personal space and kissed her. Then he spoke against her lips. “How about a hot shower?”

________________________________________________

“You don’t look it, you know.”

He was sitting the side of the bed behind her, pulling on his socks. They had showered together - yet another new experience - and now he was dressing while she sat in front of her mirror in her underwear, reapplying her face creams. Natalie moved her gaze from her own reflection to meet his. Her stomach fluttered yet again; his eyes were unequivocal. They were full of warmth and desire.

“Look what?”

“Your age.”

She shrugged. “You think so?” He nodded. “Well, I had terrible acne when I was a teenager, and the school nurse told me I was lucky, because it meant I wouldn't get so many wrinkles.”

“It’s not just that.” He stood up and walked around the bed to stand behind her. He rested his hands gently on her bare shoulders, but not before he had kissed her hair and smiled at her through the mirror. “You are beautiful, it’s true. But it’s everything about you. Your eyes, your smile...no, seriously.” Natalie had started to laugh incredulously. “There is something about you, Nat. A life, a sort of energy...” He kissed her temple this time, then fell to his knees so he could reach her mouth. He was consumed by this feeling, this attraction that had grabbed hold of him, even before he had set eyes on her. They kissed passionately, until there was no more oxygen and they had to stop.

“Tom, I…”

Natalie swivelled around on her stool to face him properly, her arms sliding over his shoulders so she could play with his lush curls. Allowing her eyes to travel over the contours of his face, she marvelled at this miracle. That writing out her pain should have been the first step on the road that led her here, to this time and place; to this man. To this feeling.

“Did you expect this to happen when you accepted my invitation?”

He frowned. “Do you mean, did I expect us to make love?”

Her stomach flipped and fluttered more wildly than ever. She had to close her eyes for a moment. Those words… “Yes.”

“I don’t… I’m not sure, actually. I had hoped that I would have the chance to tell you how I feel. I had no great plan to make a move, if that’s…” She shook her head vehemently. Good. He’d have hated to think she saw him in that way. “No. I really just wanted to spend more time with you, looking at you.” He took a deep breath, then let it out, smiling, his hands squeezing her upper arms. “But I admit, I’m extraordinarily happy that we have.” He leaned in and kissed her, at first tentatively, almost as if exploring, then passionately. When they stopped for a moment, Natalie pulled back to look at him.

“Well Thomas, delicious though you are, unless I finish getting dressed and go downstairs, there won’t be any actual dinner.”, She heard Tom’s stomach gurgle as if in reply. “A-ha! See? Some things must be taken care of. How are you at peeling spuds?”

He stood up, adopting a serious expression. “Madam, I’ll have you know I have a double first in vegetable preparation.”

“In that case, the job is yours.”He stepped back to allow her to get to her feet as well and watched as she slipped her warm jumper back on and stepped into her skinny jeans. She seemed to him to be subtly changed, in all the best ways. More relaxed in his presence, less self-conscious. “Right then. Roast chicken suit you?”

“God, yes.” He realised he was actually starving.

“Excellent. It’s local, of course...shut up.” He was laughing and miming her words. “So are the potatoes,” her voice was harder, scolding as they headed for the stairs, “and the cauliflower.” She turned around to slap him playfully on his firm chest, “I’ve made an effort for you, you git, shut yer face.”

“Sorry, sorry, just…” He was still laughing.

“I know, I can get a bit repetitive. Come on, let’s get the bird in the oven, otherwise it’ll be midnight before we eat...Oh!”

“What is it?” Natalie had stopped halfway down the staircase.

“We’d better ring the Griffiths.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll do it. I can say we have decided to take the chance to get some work done.”

“Some work?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it was quite…” he slipped an arm around her waist as they reached the foot of the stairs, ...tiring.”

“Tiring? For me, perhaps.” She leaned her head back to rest it on his shoulder. His other arm gathered her closer. “But you? Mr _I-run-every-morning_?”

“Shhh. It was _sort of_ work, though. Albeit _extremely_ enjoyable.” His hips canted, pushing his pelvis into her bottom and he moaned very quietly into her ear. If I don’t get in the kitchen in a minute, she thought…

“OK, you ring Patrick, and I’ll get started. They’re on the quick-dial.” She nodded at the landline handset on the table by the front door.

_________________________________________________

_“It was a sign, Anna thought. This evening could be described as a synecdoche of ‘us’. Here I am, bundled up in my thick coat and gloves, alone in the freezing dark. Him, asleep in his armchair, the remote control in his hand so that even now he has some petty power over me. Or so he thinks._

_I am out here, in the literal cold. But not for long._

_He does not want me, but neither does he want me to have myself. I don’t imagine he even considers that someone else might want me. And maybe they won’t. But whatever lies ahead for me, I am done with this life. Just a few more weeks, treading water, avoiding him, preparing._

_And no more tears. Not out here, not in the Tear Garden. Not anywhere.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **

_____________________________________________________

Tom put down his phone and pulled Natalie closer against his side. Piano music was playing, Bach, he thought. The fire was cracking pleasantly, its fierce heat warming his toes. Bobby was closer to it, curled up on the rug, snoring, doggy dreams making his floppy ears twitch intermittently. “It looks as if it might be another day or so before there’s a significant thaw.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Isn’t it?” He breathed in deeply and kissed her hair as she snuggled into him. Her legs were folded to one side, pressing her more firmly against his body. “I do believe you may have to put us up for one more night at least.”

“Oh dear.” She chuckled.

“Good job I brought the whole bag of Bobby’s food.”

“Good job my freezer is full.” She ran a hand over his flat stomach. “I don’t know how you do it. Where does it all go?”

“What?”

“All the food you shovel in your face.”

“I run, you know that. I run so I can eat, so I can run, so I can-”

“Yeah, yeah… but it’s not fair.”

“I have had to go on special diets, lose weight, gain weight… I like to eat! Hate it when I have to starve for those times when I have to…”

“Show everything?”

“Well, I haven’t really done-”

“ _Unrelated?_ ”

“Ms Banks, you’ve been holding out on me!” He pulled away from her, acting offended.

“I may have watched all your films… just once or twice. I like that one.” She grinned at him.

He laughed, then kissed her, long and slow. “Fave?”

“Cinematic? It’s between _Archipelago_ and _The Deep Blue Sea._ Overall, well, Mr Pine, you have many voices. But twist my arm, and I’d have to say Hal...” He smiled, looking down shyly as he always did when paid a compliment. “I told you I was aware of your work, you remember, in my first email to you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Truth is, Thomas, I’m in love with your acting.” He laughed.

It had been quiet again for a while, with only the CD and the canine dreams disturbing the peace, when he felt Natalie tensing up. “Are you OK, darling?”

“Yes, I was just, you know, thinking.”

“Dangerous. What about?”

“Stuff… you know, what’s happening...in a day or two, next week…”

“What’s on the agenda?”

“Gail’s rescheduled the book signing at Hatchards for next Thursday.”

“That’s great, because I forgot to bring my copy and you never did sign it.”

“Oh yes, no, I didn't. Sorry. But you won’t be coming-”

“Why not?”

She thought for a moment. She had not imagined this...whatever it was... into the future, their work together, their time in ‘public’. She turned her face to his. “But...then, how would we interact…?” Sitting up, he pressed his lips to her cheek, then moved to the corner of her mouth. Feeling herself loosen as if melting, she sought reassurance by taking hold of his neck. Eventually she pulled her mouth away, reluctantly. “Aren’t you bothered...I mean, we’ve only...do you… oh fuck!” She looked angry, confused.

“Nat, what do you think is happening here?”

She smiled weakly. “I’m not… I’m really not the person to answer that. I’m not… I might be old,” he shook his head briskly, “but I’m really inexperienced in these matters.”

“What do you want to happen?”

She sighed and said nothing for a long moment. “I wish we could just stay here like this.”

“So do I, but-” He pulled her close and leaned back into the sofa again. “I know it’s still quite early, but I feel we’ve been moving in this direction from the start, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “Well, yes, I suppose so, but I never-”

“Because….?”

“Because everything. Age, work, and just about every other... Remember, when we started emailing, I was quite ill. I didn’t know how long… I certainly did not want to meet you when I was so unwell. And then, with the op,” she glanced down involuntarily, “it all seemed like ludicrous.”

“But you flirted with me.”

“And you flirted with me!”

“Do you think I do that all the time?”

“ _Well…_ ”

“I don’t!”

“But you do, a bit, Thomas. I’ve seen it.”

He was red-faced now, but his eyes were sparkling with good humour. “OK, fair enough, guilty. But not usually with people I haven’t met. And only if I really like someone.”

“Like Susanne Bier?”

“Ah yes, she’s a force of nature. You remind me of her, actually, a bit. Fierce and soft at the same time.”

“Fierce?” It came out as a snort.

“You are, though. And so clever, so talented, so clear-thinking, despite, or perhaps because of what has happened to you.” His palm cupped her cheek and she leaned into his hand, closing her eyes momentarily. “But I don’t feel about her the way do about you, Nat.”

“Oh, Tom.”

“What is worrying you? What people will say?”

She couldn’t help taking in a sharp breath. “You really want people to know about…” Dare she say it? “...us?”

“Eventually they will, so why wouldn’t I?” She gave him a long look. Eventually? Does he mean- “I don’t engage.” The words had a flinty edge she hadn’t heard from him until then.

“I know. But it will happen anyway.” He felt her whole body tense up in a split second. “And then there is Graham.”

“Graham? You think he’d-”

“Yes. I think he’s like that, yes.” Tom face was grim. “He’d love to have a chance to get his revenge on me, on anything. To spoil my happiness.”

“Happiness?” Desperate to find something positive, now the conversation had taken this rather dark turn, he looked into her eyes. “Do I make you happy, Nat?”

“So very happy, yes Tom, you do.”

“Then nothing else really matters, does it?”


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”   
>  Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“How’s it looking?”

Natalie’s voice was rather muffled. She had burrowed deep under the covers while Tom had been down to let Bobby out for a toilet break. It was getting light, but still early.

“It’s freezing. Literally.”

“But no more snow?”

“No, no sign.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, grinning. “I’ve warmed my hands this time.”

“Good job, mister!” She scooted over and lifted the duvet as he slipped off his robe - he had moved his things into her bedroom the evening before - and stretched out beside her. She looked at him, still not quite able to believe what was happening, nor how comfortable she was with it; with him. How normal and relaxed it felt. “Bobby OK?”

“Puzzled, I think, but yeah, he’s fine.”

“Puzzled?”

“He’s wondering why I’m spending so much time up here with you instead of down there with him.” He rolled onto his side and kissed the tip of her nose. “We need to have that man-to-man talk.”

“Just in time for his operation.” Tom winced. “Oh, for fuck’s… why do men always make such a fuss about neutering dogs?”

“Empathy,” Tom said through gritted teeth. Natalie rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Nat,” he continued, brightening, “I’ve been thinking about your trip to town next week.”

“Oh yes?”

“You must stay at my place.”

“Oh, I don’t-”

“Why not? It’s fairly central, handy for HCR, plus…” He waggled his eyebrows.

Natalie looked at his handsome, open face. It was unreasonable. His pale blue eyes were twinkling with mischief. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am sure. Am I not here, in your house? I want you in mine. You said yourself gossip will happen anyway, and better you’re with me, in a safe and private place, rather than on your own in a hotel where the hacks can get to you.” He raised his eyebrows and turned on his most appealing look. “Please, Nat?”

“Do you provide room service? In case I want a late-night snack?”

He grinned lasciviously. “Oh yes. All kinds of room service, madam. After all, I am the Night Manager.”

“In that case, Mr Pine, I expect you to bring me a scotch and soda every night.”

“Oohh, you know the lines too. I see… in that case, madam, _I won’t suggest the minibar._ ” He dived under the duvet suddenly, making Natalie squeal and giggle.

_________________________________________________

It had not snowed anymore, as Tom said, and although the temperature had dropped again overnight, the morning was proving to be slightly milder; patches of grass were beginning to show on the lawn at the front of the house, the south side. Tom was keen to stretch his legs and so after breakfast they decided to set off for a walk with Bobby.

“Are you sure?”

Natalie realised her eagerness to walk up the road in her village with him flew in the face of her earlier concerns about being seen with Tom in London. “Yes, but…” It wasn’t really any different, except that it was, completely. She had imagined doing this when she originally invited him to stay. She had pictured it: the two of them, arm-in-arm, strolling up to pop into the _Post Office Stores_ ; Tom would just be ‘some mysterious young man that Natalie was seen with last week’, and there would be a flurry of gossip about her, but not him. Even though there had been some publicity in the local paper about HCR picking up the film rights, nobody in Lower Hergest had even mentioned Tom’s name to her. And the villagers didn't usually hold back.

“Well, I don’t mind giving it a go. The Bobster needs a walk, and the road looks a bit clearer.” He walked towards the back porch. “And we can always turn back if it’s too dodgy.”

“Oh, I thought…” She felt her cheeks glowing. Tom looked at her questioningly. “I thought you meant, was I sure about being seen with you.”

“Ah. Well, I’m putting on my disguise.” He held up his sunglasses and woolly hat.

“Oh, yeah, they’ll work a treat.”

“Sarky.” He caught her arms in his large hands and looked into her eyes. “ _Are_ you worried about that?”

“No, not here, not really. People talk, all the time, about everybody else. It’s normal, no secrets, at least, not for long. And it’s OK, it’s nice. If you need help, there’s always someone offering. No, it’s fine. As long as-”

“It doesn’t bother me. I’d like to see some more of the village. And as I said, _someone’s_ getting antsy.” He nodded in the direction of the cocker spaniel who was trying to open the porch door with his front paws and nose and squeaking with frustration.

The road was still covered in snow and ice, but it was definitely melting in the places where the bright morning sun could reach. That made it slippery, but Natalie had her walking boots on and Tom’s arm to steady her. They waved to Patrick, who was up a stepladder brushing snow off his carport as they passed on their way to the main road. A few cars and vans crawled by them as they made their way up the half a mile of slight incline to what she jokingly called the ‘centre of town’. The sides of the road were dotted with cottages, many just like hers, others smaller, one-floor jobs that had been little more than hovels in centuries past but were now weekend getaways for the Birmingham bourgeoisie. All there was in the way of amenities in central Lower Hergest was a small part-time shop-come-post office and a pub, conveniently next door to each other. The _Post Office Stores_ was open, but a hastily printed A4 sign on the door warned shoppers that no deliveries had been received for two days. Tom tied Bobby’s lead to the low railing put there for that very purpose and they went in.

“Hello Miss Banks,” the rotund man behind the till called out as they entered, “glad to see you’re out and about.”

“Thanks, Owen. Yes, it’s not too bad. Walkable, with care.” Owen was looking expectantly at her, his eyes flicking meaningfully to Tom, who was at her side feigning interest in a display rack of postcards. “Oh, this is Tom. He’s staying with me for a few days. Owen’s our sub-postmaster.”

Tom stepped over and shook the man’s hand.

“Relation of Miss Banks’s, are you?”

Tom grinned, shaking his head. “Nice to meet you, Owen, No, a friend. A colleague, in fact. Nat and I are collaborating on the adaptation of her novel. Have you read it?”

The man coughed, his already ruddy cheeks becoming even more red. “Oh, er, no... not yet.” He glanced guiltily at Natalie. “Not much of a reader, um…”

“Not to worry,” she teased, “you’ll be able to see the film in a couple of years.”

“Oh yes, of course! Oh, I see. From London, then, are you?”

“I am, yes.”

Natalie pretended to look at the crisps while she watched Tom as he patiently answered Owen’s questions. He stood square, his body towards the counter, no sign of irritation or impatience, and cheerfully chatted with the grey-haired shopkeeper. Finally, it seemed that he had been interrogated enough.

“Was there anything you needed, Miss Banks?”

“I don’t think so, Owen, unless…” she looked over to the side of the shop where the fridges were, “ah, yes, you’ve got some milk.”

“Only the Bredward Farm stuff. It’s quite expensive, but the big dairy lorry hasn’t been able to get through from Leominster yet.”

Natalie walked over to the fridge and took out a four-pint carton. “That’s fine, I like it,” she looked sideways at Tom, “and after all, it is _local._ ”

He was still laughing quietly when they stepped out into the street and Natalie felt his hand, which had been resting lightly on her waist, tighten. A group of teens were gathered on and around the picnic tables which accommodated the hardier smokers on the forecourt of _The Case is Altered._ They were only about twenty feet away and all heads had turned at the sound of the bell on the shop door.

“Hey, that’s...hey, Loki!”

“Fuck,” Tom muttered, and she watched him transform himself. He stood stiffer, grinned cheerfully and raised a hand in greeting. “Hi guys! No school today, then?”

The young people, seven in total, were moving over to where Tom and Natalie were standing. Some were walking at a normal pace, but one girl was at the vanguard and rushing, her face glowing like a neon light, and she was dragging a reluctant younger boy - most likely her little brother, Nat thought - in her wake. “No, Tom,” she replied breathlessly, her eyes fixed firmly on his face. “No school. Lucky for me.” She had reached them and was standing too close to Tom, her face a picture of adoration. He looked round her at the others, still smiling politely.

Natalie recognised a few of the group. They were local kids, and harmless; their being there was pure coincidence. Phones were being brandished, and Tom accepted their requests for selfies and answered their questions about the new Marvel movie with his accustomed aplomb. Natalie untied Bobby, then took him over to one side to wait.

“Watchoo doin’ out ‘ere, then?”

“I’m visiting a friend.” He glanced at Nat automatically. All eyes now turned to her, inquisitively. Confused, Natalie thought. But seconds later, attention was back on the big movie star. I’ve been dismissed, she thought: too old to be interesting. Seeing her discomfort, Tom politely but firmly brought the conversation to an end, bad the kids farewell and rejoined her and Bobby. “Home, darling?”

“Yes, please.”

Once they were a safe distance away, Tom began to relax. He looked at her and smiled. “I know I should be used to it, but it’s still awkward.” He tipped his head back in the direction of the pub. Neither spoke for a few minutes, because they had reached the trickiest part of the walk home, a stretch of road on a bend where such traffic as there had been had worn the half-melted and refrozen snow into a shiny, slippery, lumpy ice rink. Tom held her arm firmly and anchored her, while Bobby walked steadily at his side. Once they had negotiated it safely, he resumed. “This might sound weird, but if one of them posts a picture … well, then someone might identify you.”

“I’m not in the pictures.”

“Probably not, but they might have snuck a few extras as we were leaving… and if they put their location...”

She shrugged. Gail, her literary agent, and _Gipping Books_ had kept the biographical information about her very brief; there was nothing specific about where she lived. But it was no secret: she was known locally as a writer. “Maybe.” So much for having another week to get my head around it, she thought. A blackbird suddenly burst out of the hedge as they approached the turning to her house, making Bobby yelp, then bark in alarm. They both laughed as Tom scolded him for being a wimp and the tension was released. At least for the moment.

___________________________________________________

Natalie closed her eyes and leaned her face into the stream of warm water. She loved a shower; it set her up for the day, and she often had her best ideas standing there, absent-mindedly soaping her body or rinsing shampoo out of her hair. But this morning, she was letting her mind travel luxuriously over the events of the last twenty or so hours since they had returned from their walk. They had spent a comfortable time together, Natalie checking her messages and emails on her iPad, filling Maxine in on events (but not in so much detail that she got a phone call); Tom doing much the same, dealing with the admin that fills modern life, things that couldn’t wait, people who needed to be spoken too ‘asap’. It had been strange and wonderful, just sitting next to each other at the table or on the sofa, simply doing ordinary things made extraordinary by his presence. And then there was last night, in bed.

They had lain down together, faces close, and just looked at each other for a long time. It had been the most intimate, most moving experience of her life. Their hands sought each other out and wove together on the pillow between them; his knees rubbed hers, she rested her free hand on the firm, soft skin of his abdomen, his long fingers were on the crest of her hip. There was something about the way Tom had looked at her that made her feel at once examined and safe. And wanted. Words seemed unnecessary, because his eyes said it all.

Eventually he did speak, his voice quiet, the sound making her tingle and a rush of need sweep through her from head to toe. “What are you thinking, Nat?”

She smiled. “I’m thinking that you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been this close to.” His cheeks reddened and he closed his eyes. He made a scoffing sound. “Well, you asked.” She waited until he recovered from his embarrassment and once again locked gazes with her. “I _was_ thinking that, though, and wondering how I’m going to manage when you leave.”

His face fell. “Oh, love.” He craned his neck so he could peck her on the lips. “It’s only for a few days.”

“Five. But who’s counting?”

He laughed breathily. “So, you will come on Wednesday? To mine?”

“Of course.” Her stomach tightened at the thought of tomorrow, of having to say goodbye. “And I know I’m being silly. Childish.” Her hand moved down to tease the trail of hair lower on his belly, making him squirm and close his eyes again. “And greedy.”

He reached for her, pulled her close enough to suck on her neck. “Me too,” he murmured against her skin.

Natalie turned onto her back as he moved over her, covering her with his strength, his energy. She reached up and tugged on his wild hair, making him moan and his hips buck. “I don’t know if I can hide this, Tom.”

“This?” His words were muffled by her hair and the pillow.

“Yes. I don’t know how to.”

“Hide what?”

“How I feel. When I am with you.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “Tom-” His lips traced hers, his tongue darting, teeth nipping at her mouth. “Like earlier, with the girls that came to talk to you. Do I have to hold back? What if I wanted to touch you, or grab your hand? I don’t know how to do this. For fuck’s sake I sound thirteen!”

“Then don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t hide it.”

“But, how should I act?””

Tom moved his mouth downwards, skimming lightly over the dark pink line of her surgical scar, to nuzzle her belly, his tongue lapping. “Shhh, Nat, shhh… we can talk about all that later. There is no should. Besides now... now, we make love.” What was it about those particular words? Why did they make her dizzy, make her whole body feel light, except for her core, which was heavy and throbbing with need? Natalie had surrendered to the feelings that were thundering through and over her, to the timbre of his voice that made her nervous system light up, to the deep emotions that being so close to him, being touched by him brought.

She smiled at the tiled wall of the cubicle, leaned her head back into the stream of water and began to sing.

While Natalie showered, Tom was lying in her bed, looking at the ceiling but not really seeing it. He was trying to process his feelings, the events of the last three days, and how they fit into the wider landscape of his life. It was probably a good thing that he had to leave today; his attendance at the meeting this afternoon wasn’t so very vital, but perhaps a few days of distance would help his mind to settle. He had been so sure of his interest in Natalie, ever since he first held her in his arms in Sue’s office. His attraction to her, his need to know her better, be with her. Here, in such a tiny village in such a quiet part of England, he saw a new reality. He understood what he meant or could mean to her. The risks he could be facing, the ones she would. Then he heard her singing an Adele song in the en suite shower. He smiled to himself and rolled onto his side to look at the window. It was getting lighter, he saw glints of sunshine trying to break through the folds of dusky pink fabric. I make her happy, he thought. She said so.

_____________________________________________________

“You know I’d love to be able to stay longer.”

They were holding hands across her kitchen table. Natalie was dreading the moment but not wanting to spoil the last hour or so of Tom’s time with her. She smiled at him. “Yes, I know. But life, work, all that has to go on, right?” Tom nodded, doing battle with his own thoughts. “I mean, I haven’t even turned the Mac on since you got here. I need to get back into the saddle for the new one, and I’m sure Vinnie’s been grinding his teeth-”

“What’s it called?” She frowned. “The new novel?” He sat up in his chair, happy to have this distraction from his departure and their imminent parting. “In fact, come to think of it, I know nothing about it. You haven’t told me anything _at all._ ” He adopted an affronted expression, even if his twinkling eyes betrayed his good humour.

She smiled apologetically. “Ah, well...the _title_ is a bit of a work in progress. In other words, I haven’t actually come up with one yet. But I can tell you a bit about it… The main character is a teenage soldier in the last war. It’s about his struggle, how he deals with his growing realisation that he is gay…” She looked into his eyes. “It’s Uncle Ernie’s story, basically.”

“Sounds interesting.” He smiled broadly, squeezed her hand.

“Well, you know writers: nothing is sacred, everything is grist to the mill.” Tom lifted a hand to his chest, his face set in mock alarm; then they both laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, you’re safe for a few years at least…”

“That sounds like a great idea for a novel, though. I mean, there must have been so many gay soldiers, trying to find their way.”

“Yes, there were. I’ve been researching of course, and it was so hard for them. It was positively dangerous, in fact.”

“Jeopardy, too, then.” Their eyes met. An unspoken thought was shared; Tom fiddled with his phone and saw Natalie’s eyes flick to it. “Nothing’s come up yet, Luke would have told me.” She sighed. “Not that it would be so terrible anyway, if it did.”

Her head shot up. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “I’m sure it wouldn’t. They’re not likely to think… I’m sure they’ll just attribute it to us working together.” He was frowning now. “I mean-”

“Why wouldn’t they think that you and I are…” _What are we?_ “...that we are lovers?”

Natalie almost laughed. ‘Oh Tom, come on…” She shook her head.

“Natalie.” His voice was firm. He almost seemed angry. She walked around the table to sit beside him, taking his hand again. That wasn’t close enough for Tom. He tugged on her until she was astride his lap, and they kissed. All the outside pressures, everything that was coming between them that morning, or that might in the future, all of it was swept away when they touched. For her, for him, it was the same. They had captivated each other, and whatever else happened, when they pressed their bodies close and breathed each other’s air, that was all there was. She whispered it: what she needed to know. “ _Are_ we lovers, Tom?”

“God, yes.”

His mouth captured hers, his right hand caught the back of her head, held her against him, then tilted her so her neck was exposed to his kisses. He nuzzled into the crook of her jaw, breathed her in, sighed his melancholy into her skin. Natalie wrapped her arms about him, pressed her chin harder against his cheek and let her lips feel the soft waves of his hair.

“I thought so.”

They stayed like that for as long as they could, but eventually Natalie felt Tom take a deep breath.

“We’d better get on the road.”

“I know.” She didn't move. He slid his hands under the cheeks of her bottom and lifted her up off his lap.

“I’m sorry, darling, but...”

Natalie nodded, stood up and moved back so he could stand. This time it was he who caught hold of her and pulled her in for another kiss and a tight hug. “It’s only a few days ‘til I’ll be at yours.” Her smile was tight. He answered it with one of his own.

“Bobby’s going to miss you.”

“He’ll miss my trees, you mean.”

“Those too, yes.” He looked out of the kitchen window at her garden, now almost completely snow-free. “Come on, let’s get the boy in the car.”

They stepped outside into a morning that was bright and heartlessly sunny. A few minutes of canine excitement and human heartache and Tom was standing by the driver’s door, Natalie leaning into him as he took one last chance for a full body hug. Then he released her and turned away quickly to get in behind the wheel. He wound down the window and she kissed his mouth again. She smiled weakly and hurried to open the gate for him. He reversed down her drive, took one last, long look at her, raised a hand and blew a kiss before he drove away.

**_______________________________________________**

_“The day was typical of that autumn: grey, a vicious, gusty wind occasionally blowing a harsh spray of freezing drizzle into her face. But Anna walked along the road with the lightest of treads. Her heart sang and she felt her freedom propelling her along. Or pulling her, like an inexorable energy, unstinting… Now she was on her way, there was no stopping her._

_She was out. She had escaped._

_No matter that she had no real plan, no proper destination; nowhere to go. The world was awaiting her - she was a capable, intelligent woman. She could do whatever she wanted, go wherever she wished. Her daughter was safe. And now she was free._

_“Lovely day, Mrs Parrish.”_

_Snapping out of her daze of relief and excitement, she turned her head to see the neighbour from three doors down staring at her from the front doorstep of her house. The woman was pleasant enough, if rather sarcastic: hence the ironic greeting. But Anna’s joy was too extensive, to profound too be dampened._

_“It is, Mrs P, it really, really is a lovely day today.”_

**_From “The Tear Garden” by Natalie Banks_ **

**_Natalie & Tom’s romance will continue in a new story coming soon._ **


End file.
